


By Hircine's Will

by RainySpringMorning



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst and Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Companions Storyline, F/M, Multiple Personalities, Mutual Pining, Non-Canonical Storyline, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, Pack Hierarchy, Sexual Content, Werewolves, lycanthropy, rated for mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unknown to the Companions of Jorrvaskr is a werewolf tribe called Hircine’s Chosen, hidden in the wilderness and led by a maliciously ambitious man named Loren. When Mariah, the newest member of the Companions, is dragged into a war over power and bloodlust, spirits and rules shall be bent as Hircine’s will unfolds...</p><p>The Companions arc with a twist. Please see the notes for details.</p><p>The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda Game Studios! All original characters and content is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So you’ve stumbled across my little story and you’re probably asking yourself two things that you wish you could ask me, so I’ve taken the liberty of answering those questions ahead of time. One: Is this worth reading? and Two: Is it your typical by-the-book Companions story? I cannot tell you whether or not ‘By Hircine’s Will’ is worth reading or not – that’s for you to discover for yourself. I hope you will give it a chance, at least. As for the second question… why don’t I tell you a little bit about what you’re in for?
> 
> BHW uses the Companions storyline like a skeleton; it provides structure and direction. The meat of the story is mostly original content, featuring a tribe of werewolves called Hircine’s Chosen. Some of the canon characters will have different roles/purposes for the sake of storytelling (Aela, for example) and some things that happened in-game will be excluded. Morals and choices are an important part of BHW, and then there’s lycanthropy, and how our main characters handle it in different ways – some worse than others (nudge nudge). I recommend looking up the article about lycanthropy on UESP (under ‘Lore’).
> 
> BHW is rated with a very strong mature. I will post a warning at the top of some chapters if I deem anything should be regarded with caution, for your sakes (and mine). Last but not least, this is the official rewrite of my FanFiction one-shot titled ‘A Dance with Vilkas’. I’d promised I would continue it, so here it is.
> 
> Happy Reading! ~ RSM  
> 

Despite the icy bite of the blizzard swirling around him, blinding him, Vilkas had never felt warmer. Snow melted as it touched his bare skin, running in steaming rivulets down his back as he stumbled along. His mouth was full of blood and his head was full of confused fear. The stink of fear-sweat made his hackles rise.

Vilkas glimpsed Farkas just ahead, lying on his back in the snow, stripped down to the skin and streaked with crimson. His mouth was especially smudged and his breaths smelled richly of venison. Vilkas collapsed to his knees beside Farkas, glancing his twin form over for wounds while fighting the keening wail in his throat. He had no idea what was happening or where they were.

Vilkas winced at the thunderous drumming of his heartbeat in his ears and struggled to calm himself. He was tense, muscles coiled and ready to snap. Farkas opened his eyes, icy-gray like the snow around them. Vilkas sought his hand and Farkas took it, squeezing tightly as he focused on his brother looming above him.

“I heard screaming,” Farkas choked out. Vilkas nodded, for he had heard the same thing. The pitching shrill sound still echoed in his ears. He shook his head, trying to push it away. His heartbeat quickened its pace as Farkas sat up, his long hair clumped with snow. “Vilkas, what did we do?”

“I don’t know, brother,” Vilkas responded. Funny, he could hear two sets of heartbeats. The one beating within his own chest was its usual steady pace, thumping at a slow roll as it did, even when he entered battle or slowed while running. He pressed a hand to his chest, confused, and licked his lips. It tasted strange, as though he had split his lip or lost a tooth, but he couldn’t recall being hit in the mouth. His mouth was full of it, like a mouthful of soup or as though he’d taken a large bite of…

“Oh, Gods…” Vilkas whispered. Farkas’ wide-eyed stare mirrored his own, shining with desperation and terror. “The little girl.”

“Vilkas, what did they turn us into?” Farkas exclaimed. “We… we’re monsters!”

~*~

Vilkas’ eyes slid open and he stared at the ceiling above his bed for several long, quiet moments. He could hear… no. He could _smell_ Tilma sweeping the dust gathered in the cracks from their boots, Aela’s specifically. The elderly woman was wearing a new scented oil, reminiscent of dragon’s tongue. He didn’t know Aela was back from Hammerfell. Perhaps she and Skjor had found the mammoth-sized bear after all. He hoped they’d brought back a claw or even its pelt for him to inspect.

Heaving out of bed, still grubby and in full armour, Vilkas left his room and passed Tilma. He leaned in close to her as he strode by, jokingly murmuring in her ear, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Tilma swatted the back of his head as he ducked away, chuckling good-naturedly as she called after him, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t wear perfume.”

Kodlak was sitting alone in his room, paging through a large volume. An old war tale, from the look of the aged leather-bound cover. Kodlak was still strong and hardy, but his age was beginning to get the best of him. A temperate man with enough years beneath his belt to make even Vilkas still feel like a whelp. Vilkas knocked and the Harbinger stirred, his clouded blue eyes raising as he murmured, smiling, “Vilkas, my boy. Come in and sit down.”

Vilkas crossed the room, his eyes flitting to the weapons and shields hung on the walls and displayed in locked cases, battered and twisted from years of use. Many were named; he knew this because when he was young, he’d asked Kodlak what they were called, and the Harbinger had mistaken his question for names Kodlak had given them, rather than “great-sword” or “battle-axe”. Vilkas had been smart enough to know the names of most weapons – Gods, he knew the names of nearly everything from Solitude to Riften and all in between. Vilkas’ eyes settled on Jörmungandr, a mighty blue-glass great-sword with a serpent coiled around the hilt to form the cross guard. It had been his favourite of Kodlak’s arms, and held nothing to the classic steel-ebony short-sword at his hip, forged by Eorlund Gray-Mane in the Skyforge. Its name was “Wolfsbane”.

“What brings you to me, Vilkas? You appear troubled.” At once, Kodlak seemed to know his reason for coming, as the Harbinger always did. Vilkas had gone to Kodlak many times, more frequently in recent years, to share his concerns with a willing ear. Kodlak knew of his fears and concerns, his struggles and desires, but most of all he knew of Vilkas’ intense, almost uncontrollable bloodlust.

“I had the dream again,” Vilkas said. “The one with the snow… and the blood.”

“It is a true test of a man to learn to forgive himself for an action so merciless,” Kodlak agreed, bowing his head. “Many times have I told you, sitting in these very chairs we sit in now, that the beast is you but _you_ are _not_ the beast. It will never gain hold of you, should you set aside your grievances and understand how to banish it from your mind.”

“I don’t understand how Farkas is so willing to accept it,” Vilkas’ tone rang not short of complaint. “He doesn’t get any of what I’m going through. He and I are so alike and yet I’ve never felt so distant from my brother.”

“Farkas is ruled by the strength of his heart. He knows what he is and he has chosen to not let the beast control him. You, my boy, have not.” Kodlak motioned to Vilkas’ head. “You think with your mind far too much. Let your heart guide you for once, and perhaps something will change. I cannot promise this unless you are willing to let your fears go.”

“If I let go of my fear, I’ll become that monster,” Vilkas spat, his fists clenching on his thighs. “I can feel it, biting and gnashing its teeth every time I try to relax. I have to keep a tight rein on it.”

“One day, the beast will become angry enough to break free of those reins,” Kodlak pointed out. “Vilkas, speak with your brother when he returns. He will listen.”

Vilkas snorted but still nodded in the end. He looked at the bear head hung on the far wall and said, “Did Aela and Skjor bring anything back from their trip?”

“They’ve returned but left an hour ago. Skjor had some things he wanted to take care of,” Kodlak smiled, his face crinkling into several little lines. “I can smell the bear’s pelt from here. Go and see. I will be up shortly.”

Vilkas bid Kodlak goodbye and left the Harbinger to himself. He passed the hall where Aela and Skjor’s rooms were but thought better of it and wheeled around on his heel, ducking into Aela’s room. It was the same as before, except for the knapsack and bag of coin on the desk. Her bow was absent, so Vilkas guessed that she and Skjor had gone hunting, though the older warrior despised it. “Too noisy,” Aela had commented one evening at the dinner table. “And besides, he had better plans than just hunting in the woods.”

It was quite plain among the Companions that Aela the Huntress and Skjor were very close. Many a night Vilkas had found himself sitting with Farkas at the bar in his brother’s room, drinking through his selection of ales and mead while the sounds of two angry bears kept everyone awake during the wee hours of the morning. The nights that the couple chose to roam under the moonlight “hunting” were blessed nights indeed.

The moment Aela had walked into the great mead hall and laid eyes on Skjor, and Skjor laid his eyes on her, everyone knew a good night’s sleep was at last out the window. Skjor took Aela on as his Shield-Sister and trained her, and it was he who turned her in the secret ritual in the Underforge. Vilkas remembered the day Kodlak discovered that they were hunting more than just elk out on the plains and Skjor had gotten the left side of his face ripped for it, leaving his eye white and unseeing. That was round about the time Aela began wearing war paint, drawn like three great scratches, across her face. “If he is scarred, then so I shall be as well,” she’d proclaimed, though no human-hunting had continued after that terrifying night.

But Kodlak’s sense of smell was not as strong as it had once been and Vilkas could easily smell the rich tang of fresh blood in Aela or Skjor’s wake. It seemed that Hircine favoured them, Vilkas had no doubt about that. They were true to their inner beasts and had taken to their animalistic side like flies to honey, relishing in the hunt of both creature and man.

Part of Vilkas envied their ability to supress regret and continue on in their practice. He longed for the taste of blood, the feel of flesh shredding between his claws, the feel of the wind battering his back as he charged unbidden across the plains and through the woods. Some nights, he dreamed that he did, and awoke to find blood beneath his fingernails or the distinctive reek of dead on his skin. Not remembering scared him the most, and Kodlak had once told him that amnesia was not an uncommon thing with werewolves. Vilkas couldn’t imagine marrying or bearing children; what if the day came that he tore them apart and feasted on their hearts?

There was a funny old saying about how mothers could love their children so much that they could just eat them up. It wasn’t very funny to Vilkas.

Ria and Athis were laying the huge bear pelt on the floor by the grand entry doors while Njada barked at them about how to arrange it. Vilkas lurked a bit aways, admiring the coarse brown fur and the large head angled his way. The bear was colossal, roughly the size of a mammoth calf as opposed to a fully-grown mammoth, but was still big regardless. Torvar, with a bottle in his hand as usual, whistled as Ria and Athis finished arranging the hind end. “That’s a big bear,” the drunkard commented in his slurred voice.

“I’m surprised Aela managed to kill it,” Athis said. “She is quite the huntress but just look at this thing! It would have taken two or three of me to slay it, let alone carry it home.”

“It’s quite the creature, isn’t it?” Vilkas spoke at last, crouching down next to the bears head and tilting the fur up. Its teeth were as long and curved as his thumb, maybe longer. “I’d like to have seen this thing challenge a dragon.”

“That would be exciting,” Ria agreed, coming to crouch next to Vilkas. He twitched his nose, smelling her arousal, and laid the bear head down. He straightened his legs and stepped around the bear, asking Athis, “Is my brother back?”

“Not as far as I know,” the dark elf informed. “Should he be?”

“Aye. He and Mariah should have been back from that mission a half hour ago.”

“It’s only half-past one,” Ria said behind him. “Give them time. I’m sure they’ll be back soon enough.” The stink of her jealously combined with her yearning, thick and hot as dog piss. Vilkas sighed quietly and nodded. “I’m headed out for some fresh air.”

Ria began to follow, intending to catch a moment alone with her Shield-Brother, but before she could reach Vilkas’ side he told her over his shoulder, “Ria, go do some training in the yard. I want to see how the shield technique I showed you is coming along. Take Athis.”

“Yes, Vilkas,” came her sullen reply but it cut off at the last syllable as the door shut behind his back. Vilkas let out a groan just quiet enough so his fellow Shield-Siblings wouldn’t hear it and he started down the steps into Whiterun’s Wind District.

Heimskr was preaching his sermons shrilly, his eyes bugging out of his reddened face as he spoke fanatically of Talos and the Thalmor in great distain. Vilkas carried on, nodding politely to guards and citizens that paused to greet him or say, “Hail, Companion”. There was still a sense of pride at hearing their affectionate words, even after years of harsh toil and selfless labour.

Well, more on his brother’s part. For Vilkas, knowing that purse of gold would be waiting at the end of a long walk to Hjallmarch on the tails of a criminal or after a tiring battle against a hoard of bandits far up north, it was enough. He didn’t hoard his gold or lust over it like wealthy lords or common crooks; he spent it in good meaning, repairing his gear and putting it where he needed it put. Vilkas had reached a point where he didn’t have to worry so over little wealth; two meals on the table, a roof over his head, and a soft pillow to rest his head on at night were the luxuries he expected and once fought for, but never for long. By sixteen he was already out on jobs, slaying troublesome wolves and helping farmers catch the rabbits digging burrows under their cabbage fields. The comfort of a beautiful woman or the weight of a new Skyforge sword on the other hand… he reserved those so they’d be worthwhile.

Vilkas passed through the Plains Quarter and made his way up the street to the main gates. He nodded a greeting to the guard posted on duty before stepping out; he shielded his eyes at the glaring sun and gazed out across the great plains.

Whiterun Hold may not have been half as lush and warm as the bordering western holds of Falkreath or the Reach, nor was it as bone-chilling as the far northern reaches, but it was somehow prosperous to both man and beast. Farmers could coax crops from the dry soils and giants had been able to herd their mammoths for endless seasons. As the busiest trading hub in the province, Vilkas found a lot of pride in calling Whiterun his home and knew he would fight to defend it – as he had for thirty-odd years so far.

And he could continue to as well, not for honour and glory and not for coin, but for the brother who shared his face and the whelp in his company, somewhere out there on the broad horizon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see a bunch of you are enjoying BHW so far - I'm having fun writing it. For the first few chapters, the basic structure of our main characters will be set up, and it'll be around chapter six or so that things deviate from the familiar zone. I have no idea how long BHW will be yet in terms of chapters, but considering the story I want to tell, it might a solid 30-40 chapters (don't take my word for it - that's just an estimate). Anyways, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. 
> 
> Happy Reading! ~RSM

“Damn Draugr,” Farkas growled, wiping decayed blackened blood from his Skyforge Steel great-sword. Mariah glanced up at him with a grin, scrubbing a particularly sticky bit of gore from her sleek twin daggers. The fired steel was almost blue in colour, the metal folded back on itself time and time again as it was forged in the overbearing heat by the second-best blacksmith in town – Adrienne Avenicci. Secretly, Mariah personally preferred the woman’s smithing abilities over Eorlund’s; just because everyone said the old forge master was the best didn’t necessarily mean it was true. And the young Breton was quite happy with the light, smooth durability of the blades Adrienne had sold her on her first trip into the city.

“They’re tough, aren’t they?” Mariah said, making sure her hands were clean before stroking the sweat from her forehead. She’d been caught by surprise when the enormous wave of powerful Draugr exploded from their sarcophaguses to launch their assault on the two Companions. Farkas nodded in agreement and sheathed his mighty great-sword and pointed to the metal shards still lying on the table before the grand Word Wall humming in the back of the room. “Grab those and let’s get outta here.”

“Good idea.” Mariah clambered up onto the raised pedestal and gently picked up the broken bits of steel, folding them into a square of linen and tucking them into her knapsack. She approached the Word Wall and ran her palm over the engraved runes in the stone; it continued to hum gently, but at too low a frequency for Mariah to understand what it was doing. She turned away and thanked Farkas as he reached out a hand, helping her down in a very gentlemanly manner. Farkas just smiled a dorky little grin and Mariah couldn’t help but mirror it. He was cute – probably the last thing she’d ever think of such a hulking, overbearing warrior like himself, especially one who could transform himself into a terrifying werewolf.

Ah yes, that had come as an even bigger shock than the Draugr attack. She’d felt so helpless, preparing herself to watch the man akin to the big brother she’d never had be torn apart by the men and women he’d called the “Silver Hand”, but that helplessness vanished when he folded over upon himself and traded his armour and skin for jagged teeth and claws. An unstoppable killing machine, she’d thought as the beast that had taken Farkas’ place ripped limbs from torsos and shredded steel plate like it was butter. Butter that leaked red and screamed like banshees… mind you.

But Mariah felt no fear when he returned to her side, shrunken back to his normal human, and very naked, appearance. She couldn’t ignore _that_ as she’d hunted for the least bloodied tunic on the corpses flung from one side of the room to the other, stifling a virginal giggle as he fervently attempted to apologize and keep his back turned. At least it subsided her fear of the unknown, and replaced the gap with questions of intrigue and wonder. In a world where witches, vampires and – by the Divines – _DRAGONS_ existed, it shouldn’t have come as a shock to Mariah. She’d seen her fair share of wonders, though most took the form of a tomato-destroying beetle in her grandma’s greenhouse down south in the Highlands.

“Isn’t it hard to see?” Mariah asked as Farkas led the way down a narrow tunnel.

“I can see in the dark,” he answered. “I can smell the trail we left behind not far ahead, too. And I heard that,” he added with a glance over his shoulder. Mariah gave him a questioning look.

“Your breath hitched.”

“Oh. Well, this is all so new to me, you know?” Mariah shrugged. “I’ve never exactly hung out with a werewolf before.”

Farkas chuckled and pulled a lever jutting out from the dark; a mechanized wall sank down, opening up into a room Mariah recognized. Farkas wasn’t lying about his heightened senses, though Mariah didn’t have any reason to doubt his words.

“So I guess werewolves don’t run around in High Rock, huh?”

“I was born in Cyrodiil, actually,” Mariah corrected. “I’ve never actually seen High Rock, but I hear it’s… different than the Colovian Highlands. I grew up on a farm with my grandparents. Don’t worry – I know my parents. They’re part of a travelling caravan and thought it was better to leave me to be raised in a single place.”

“That must have been hard. You never mentioned your family before.”

“I’ve only been part of the Companions for two months. It’s not like I’m going to share my life story with a bunch of strangers,” she said, pointedly raising an eyebrow. “I have my secrets and you have yours... you know the saying.”

They stopped outside the door that led to the over world. The smell of Draugr and death was weakest here, the freshness of outside whispering in below the door gap. Farkas looked down at Mariah and nodded. “If you want it to stay a secret…” he began, but Mariah shook her head.

“It’s not like I’m from some crazy coven of witches,” she confided. “But should I keep knowing about you being a werewolf to myself?”

“Yeah, that would be a good idea,” Farkas rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, wordlessly expressing how tired and stiff he was feeling. “Only the Circle have the privilege of that knowledge – gee, I sound like my brother.”

Vilkas’ face flashed through Mariah’s mind and she felt her cheeks redden slightly. She was glad for the dim lighting. “A little,” she admitted, clearing her throat as she noticed the light husky rasp thickening her accent. She hoped Farkas wouldn’t notice her sudden change in character. “Ah, um… c’mon. I want to get home before nightfall. Nothing worse than camping, am I right?”

Farkas gave a hearty laugh, baring his teeth as he tipped his head back, and hauled open the heavy iron door, wrought stiff with layers of rust and dried dust. Mariah exited quickly, keeping her back to the Nord, and kept her blushing face pointed ahead as she climbed out of the ancient cairn.

~*~

The rainstorm began less than halfway home, much to Mariah’s despair.

She trailed along behind Farkas, her stomach hollow with hunger and her hair hanging in wet auburn clumps around her face. Usually, she wore her hair tied back but a soaked ponytail made her neck ache like it was on fire. She didn’t have a hood or a hat on hand, so she’s settled for holding her knapsack over her head until her arms gave out. Her hair would be frizzier than a horse’s tail.

Mariah had always been blessed by thick, luscious hair – more than she wanted or really needed. It was a beautiful shade between pumpkin red and mousey brown, gleaming like amber in the sun. It had once spilled to her waist and was kept in a tidy plait, but when she joined the Companions at the height of summer, it now brushed the tops of her elbows, and she’d hacked out a set of side-swept bangs that tended to stray into her eyes. It wasn’t a traditional hairstyle for the ladies of Skyrim – it resembled her mom’s messy hairdo more than anything – but it was easier to manage with all the trekking and travelling.

She hadn’t been in as good as shape either, it turned out. Working on the farm had been harsh work, but nothing compared to the endless strenuous work the Companions sent her on. It wasn’t just about running errands or saving some long-lost cow in the woods, oh no. In the two short months Mariah had spent under the old mead hall, she’d hunted enough bears and wolves to have made cloaks for every citizen living in Whiterun, chased down at least half a dozen loose criminals (all from the Rift, imagine that?), and even took on a snappy old dragon terrorizing a fair-sized settlement called Rorikstead; unfortunately, that dragon chose to fly off and hide in the mountains before anyone could get in a killing blow. Mariah gained a few pounds of iron-hard muscle and took on more of a toned, athletic shape – more than she thought she ever would. She’d always been used to her chubby, freckled thighs and round, childish face; if she had to put it anyway, she felt more like the twenty-three year old woman she actually was, but it was a good feeling.

It still surprised her, knowing she was in her twenties. Just yesterday, she was a little girl. Now some of the Companions compared her to Aela the Huntress, though in a joking way. Mariah hadn’t yet met Aela, since she was away on a trip to Hammerfell with another Companion called Skjor, but she’d built up a mental image that was probably completely wrong. In her mind, Aela was tall and lean, robust and shapely – a real woman warrior like the housecarls that accompanied their petty, fine-boned thanes. She’d heard that Aela had red hair, redder and ruddier than Mariah’s. Mariah was looking forward to meeting Aela, if not a bit intimidated. Aela was a member of the Circle – that meant she was not only an exceptional warrior, but she was highly respected, and maybe a little bit feared. Mariah wondered if _she_ could ever reach such a status someday, but her sights weren’t exactly set on being “the best of the best”. She just wanted to learn all she could and help people out, then carry onto the next place and do more than before. It was in her nature to strive for greatness, but just one step at a time, as she’d done for the last few years. She was farther than she ever imagined was possible, even if that was wandering around grumbling about her hair getting soaked in the rain.

“A little rain won’t kill ya,” Farkas told her cheerfully. He’d dropped back to walk beside her. “But I think we should look for a spot to rest and wait most of this out.”

Mariah nodded in agreement and kept her eyes peeled for a suitable shelter. She glimpsed one or, rather, had to bend her head all the way back to look at the enormous fort looming just ahead through the sheets of rain. She had to shield her face to keep herself from being blinded by the whipping beads of rain on the wind, and she shuddered as a growl of thunder rippled through the sky. “How about there?” she yelled over the tail end of the thunder. Farkas observed the fort briefly before nodded vigorously and waving for Mariah to follow him.

Farkas didn’t walk through the front, much to Mariah’s confusion and, more so, her annoyance. She slogged through the grassy puddles along the back of the fort, avoiding the deepest ones as best as she could, until she found Farkas prying old boards from a sewer drain. She joined to help get the job done faster, ignoring the inch-long splinters biting her numbing hands.

“This weather is terrible,” Mariah growled, snapping one of the weaker boards in half and flinging it away. “Torrential, in fact. How long will this last?” Since she’d arrived, Skyrim had been fairly peaceful, raining overnight every now and then. The closest it ever got to snow was a bit of light frost that melted by the time the sun was up, though that would change by the end of Last Seed. Winters came early and lasted a very long time, sometimes well into Midyear, the folks would say back down south. Mariah couldn’t vouch for mere words when she hadn’t experienced a true Skyrim winter yet, and she figured complaining too much about the cool rain would seem wimpy.

“A few hours,” Farkas grunted his reply, dragging off the last of the boards and peering into the hole. “Sounds quiet. I’ll look and see if it’s-”

He was cut off abruptly as Mariah scurried past him, unable to tolerate the icy drops dribbling down the back of her leathers. Farkas sighed and followed in behind her, forced to crawl through the smelly, shallow water until they reached an opening leading into what looked like a storage hall. Several barrels had been rolled under a walkway lined with shelves covered with everything from spare clothes to food and simple iron weaponry.

Mariah straightened, wiping her hands on her thighs, and followed the walkway to the left end of the room. Farkas checked the right, carefully stepping over the bear traps laid out to manage the apparent skeever infestation. Mariah returned to Farkas shaking her head. “It seems quiet. We can probably get away with staying for a few hours. Let’s see what’s in those cupboards.”

A few minutes later, they’d shifted enough of the barrels to make a shelter beneath the walkway to make space for a bedroll. It was a tight squeeze, but Farkas seemed content to let Mariah sleep. “Are you sure?” Mariah asked as her Shield-Brother leaned against the entrance to their hidey-hole, but he just shrugged.

“Werewolves have trouble sleeping,” he said. “Go on and rest. I’ll wake you when the storm lets up.”

There was really no point in arguing. Mariah stripped off her leathers and tugged on the simple hide cuirass she’d found stashed in one of the cupboards. It hung a little, sagging in a few places where Mariah wasn’t quite as meaty as the average Nord woman, but it was comfortable. She lifted the flap of the bedroll and curled into the fur-lined makeshift bed, sighing as she folded her hands as a pillow. She felt slightly tense, not exactly at ease with sleeping in an unfamiliar place possible inhabited by bandits; she couldn’t even say she’d done worse, since she always made sure she was within distance of an inn or camp, even settling for a barn once.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind realize how tired her body was and fell asleep in no time.

~*~

Farkas could smell several bandits in the fort, but he couldn’t imagine them being in imminent danger. Judging from the sounds and smells, they were all busying themselves until they could head back outside and do whatever it was bandits did. Farkas’ nose wrinkled as he scented cooking human flesh and suspected that a necromancer lived among these bandits; he didn’t favour magic-wielders at all, considering that he himself and Vilkas were once left to the mercy of necromancers.

That was long before Jergen – their father – found and raised them as his own. Vilkas reminded Farkas that they’d been too young to remember any of it, but Farkas wasn’t an idiot. He knew fear when he saw it, and the look that would come into Vilkas’ eyes whenever the very word “necromancer” was mentioned made his gut twist. Farkas may have not remembered the year in the necromancers’ lair, but Vilkas obviously did, and Farkas considered himself lucky – maybe too lucky – that his memory surrounding the youngest years of his childhood remained foggy.

Vilkas was one who didn’t forget, Farkas knew. He was intelligent, far more an academic than a warrior, but he wielded his blade as well as he harnessed his knowledge of the world. Unfortunately, some of that knowledge had turned him bitter and sometimes just shy of vindictive, though it was far more recognizable in the beast crawling beneath his skin.

Farkas knew his brother had a hard time controlling the beast; he couldn’t understand why Vilkas wouldn’t just accept that that’s what they were. Sure, Farkas himself had once considered himself a monster, but Vilkas had taken it a little too far. His brother was but a shadow of the man he’d once been, engulfed in his misery and fear; he’d become the shadow following the werewolf when it should have been the other way around. Farkas had managed to keep his head above it all, but why hadn’t Vilkas?

Farkas shifted, making himself more comfortable against the barrels and listened to Mariah’s steady breaths. Her heartbeat was long and slow, at ease – so unlike his own and especially like his brother’s. Farkas rested his fingers against his neck and counted the steady _th-thump th-thump th-thump_. It was a pace he’d grown used to and was calmed by – it was still his heart.

However, it was at night, when he was kept awake by the sound of Vilkas’ pulse carrying along like the wings of a frightened bird, all he could imagine was that his brother was trying to run – but had forgotten that it was impossible to outrun himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a bit of writer's block and too many ideas buzzing around in my head for me to concentrate long enough on one story at a time, there will be a short delay until the next chapter is posted. I hope you don't mind too much, and I hope you enjoy the latest chapter! :)

The front doors of Jorrvaskr creaked open, letting in a rush of rain-scented wind. The heads of every Companion lifted to study the two drenched figures coming within range of the light of the roaring hearth.

Vilkas felt his breath stutter in relief as his brother grinned and reached around to pull Mariah forward. The stout young warrior looked at the warriors watching her from across the table, hesitating as they took in the two unfamiliar faces at one end. Aela and Skjor.

“Ah, the new whelp.” Aela stood and approached Mariah in one fluid motion. She smiled down at Mariah and Vilkas chuckled at the glimmer of intimidation in the Breton’s eyes as she stared back at the huntress. She almost resembled a child being scolded for stealing sweets, if that’s what a guilty child looked like, at least. Mariah was trying to be brave, and not only was it clear to those observing her first meeting with Aela, but it was also brave of her to keep a stiff upper lip.

“Mariah, if I’m not mistaken?” the huntress raised a slender crimson eyebrow along with the corner of her mouth. “Kodlak chose well. I see strength in spirit in you. Pride, fire – good qualities in any warrior or… hunter.” Aela’s head inclined inwards, towards the table, and Vilkas glimpsed the nod of Skjor’s head as he agreed with Aela’s words.

“Mariah has proved herself to be a fine young fighter,” Kodlak’s voice rang out across the hearth; the warmth in his tone was plain and Vilkas smiled at the pride on his brother’s face as he looked down at Mariah. The Breton blushed slightly, pleased with the Harbinger’s kindness, and she offered a hand to Aela.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Shield-Sister.” Aela accepted Mariah’s hand, squeezing it slightly before letting it go. Vilkas saw the flash of light in her eyes as she shared the briefest of glances with Skjor; the seriousness of her stare was pointedly made and direct, but private. Skjor held up his hand before Mariah and Farkas could join them at the table.

“You both smell like death hounds,” the older warrior complained. “Clean yourselves up and change before you sit with us. But before you go, did you retrieve the shards?”

Mariah reached into her knapsack and removed a small wrapped bundle. She started to hand them to Skjor, but he shook his head and gestured to Kodlak. “Our Harbinger should be the one to accept them, whelp.”

Mariah stepped around the table, flushed with nervousness, and Vilkas offered her a quick smile of encouragement as she passed behind his chair. Mariah caught it and her eyes glowed with appreciation as she stepped up beside Kodlak. Kodlak took the bundle in both gnarled hands and thanked Mariah quietly. She bowed her head and stepped back to watch as Kodlak unfolded the bundle; a sound of controlled joy escaped the Harbinger as his clouded gaze fell upon the broken shards.

“The Shards of Wuuthrad, pieces of the battle-axe Ysgramor, the Harbinger of us all, wielded when he came from Atmora with his five-hundred,” he spoke solemnly. “Have been returned home, at last.”

“I thank the efforts of Farkas,” he looked to the warrior standing on the far side of the hearth, pale eyes turned gold by the flames, then up over his shoulder at Mariah. “And this young Companion beside me. Their vigilance and determination ensured the gathering of this mighty prize, and I would honour them with a celebration on the morrow.”

Ria clapped her hands together in delight and Torvar lifted his cup to exclaim, “A drinking contest in our own backyard. Finally!”

“To the Companions!” Aela said heartily and the Companions took up their bottles, echoing her cry.

~*~

Vilkas glanced up at the rap of knuckles on his door and grunted a low, “Come on in,” as he picked up Farkas’ scent lingering behind the wood. He usually left his door open throughout the day, not to mention at night as well, since it was terribly hot and arid for the werewolves. With the bedrooms located beneath the ground, it should have been cool, perhaps even damp, but Vilkas knew of how the whelps complained of chilly nights and how they wanted a hearth built in the junction between the men and women’s quarters. The complaining tended to increase when the front doors were left propped open during the heat of summer, so the night air would blow a draft downstairs, but that complaining ceased completely when Aela snapped at Njada one morning during breakfast while it was her turn of the moon.

Farkas cracked open the door, taking in Vilkas sitting cross-legged on the floor at the end of his bed, the volume he was reading held open on his lap. Ice-blue eyes were mirrored for a moment, but it was a moment long enough for Vilkas to not only read the discomfort in his twin’s features, but smell his hesitation. “Is something wrong?” It had been a very long time since Farkas ever came to him to confide in anything; they themselves had argued about not seeing the same thing equally, usually resulting in drawn-out fights and nights more restless than usual. It was hard when there was a tense gap between brothers, especially when they slept within such close range of each other and could feel the throb of anger snapping like electricity between closed doors.

“Yeah,” Farkas answered nervously. “I wanted to tell you somethin’.”

Vilkas dog-eared his book and set it aside and gestured to the table for Farkas to sit. Vilkas joined him, handing him a bottle of mead, and was surprised to see Farkas set his aside. His brother rarely turned down a drink so blatantly, even in a bad mood. It made Vilkas all that more concerned as he seated himself and asked, “What did you want to tell me?”

“Well, you aren’t gonna like it,” Farkas admitted timorously. “Mariah saw me turn.”

The colour drained from Vilkas’ cheeks. He knew he was openly gaping at Farkas but he couldn’t help it. Mariah _knew?_ “Wh-why?” he sputtered. “Have you lost your mind? What in Oblivion convinced you to turn in front of her?”

“The Silver Hand.” Now _that_ made Vilkas’ brows fly halfway up to his hairline, but he managed to keep quiet long enough to let Farkas continue. “There was a whole bunch of them down there. Mariah got stuck behind a gate and they had us surrounded. I wasn’t gonna let them hurt her so I did the only thing I could at the time.”

A commendation of intelligence wasn’t exactly in order, but at least Farkas had thought to put his Shield-Sister first. Vilkas figured he would have done the same – scratch that. He _would_ have done the exact same if it were Mariah with him, and pay the consequences later – consequences that would undoubtedly be wearisome or delicate, depending on how the girl took it.

Speaking of how Mariah handled knowing about it, Vilkas’ voice was unsurprisingly hoarse as he asked, “Is she alright?”

“Yeah, Mariah wasn’t hurt or anythin’,” Farkas looked up in time to see the hard look in Vilkas’ eye and he corrected himself. “She seemed alright with that, too.”

Vilkas sank his head down into his hands and let out a long sigh. What kind of answer was that? That wasn’t going to soothe his sudden bout of anxiety. Farkas shifted in his chair uncomfortably, averting his gaze from his brother’s glare as Vilkas took his head from his hands and coldly asked, “Have you thought to inform Kodlak?” When Farkas shook his head, clearly struggling to find some kind of excuse, someone cleared their throat nearby and both brothers looked to the door to see who had interrupted their conversation.

“Inform Kodlak about what?” she queried. “The old man needs his rest, good spirits or not. I’m certain any news can wait until tomorrow-”

“Farkas just told me there were Silver Hand waiting for him and Mariah in Dustman’s Cairn,” Vilkas spoke over her, silencing her as he thought it would. A glimmer of heated fury sparked brightly in her green eyes.

“Do you think it might have been a trap?” she suggested.

“Aye, that’s exactly what I think this was. That’s scholar must have been working with them – knew that we would leap on any chance to retrieve the shards, whether or not we perceived it as a threat of any kind.” Vilkas rubbed his fingers over day-old stubble in thought, hiding his distress as an image of Mariah being savagely beaten coming to mind.

“If you’re so concerned, tell him,” Aela prompted. “We’ll look into the issue tomorrow, for certain. Skjor and I can scout the area and see if any surviving members fled. Then we’ll know where they-”

“I’m certain we took care of them all,” Farkas cut in. “I scented none when we came out.”

Aela leaned forward and rubbed Farkas’ shoulder kindly, almost motherly. “Very good, Farkas. Skjor and I will go anyways, just to be sure.” Vilkas bit back his smirk – Aela sure knew how to be authoritative on any matter, regardless of whether or not she insulted them in the process of congratulating them.

“Wouldn’t it be wise to let Kodlak rest easy?” Vilkas spoke his thoughts out loud. “We all know the old man is… bothered by his own thoughts. Why go adding to them so soon?”

Their expressions said they understood where Vilkas was coming from – at least he hoped so. Every accidental kill as a werewolf lingered on his mind heavily, especially the little girl from _years_ ago, on the night he underwent his first and very violent change; combined with his other concerns, Vilkas sometimes found himself dead exhausted if he had too much time to think. It was impossible to imagine what Kodlak suffered, worrying that he might perish long before finding his cure to lycanthropy, forcefully having to settle for spending his eternity alongside Hircine rather than an afterlife of peace and joy within the Hall of Valour at Ysgramor’s side.

“Your reasoning is fair,” Aela admitted. “Tomorrow is the celebration, though. Would you want his enjoyment of the party to be tainted by these worries?”

“Are you suggesting we not tell him at all?” Vilkas rounded. It was starting to sound as though Aela was perfectly comfortable with going ahead and dealing with the Silver Hand alone, let alone breaking Kodlak’s trust in her judgement. Vilkas could sense the ebb of eagerness shifting around her, like a bitch in heat. “How long do you intend to go without discussing this with Kodlak? Another day? Gods, another week, a month?”

“We’ll tell him when the time is right.” Aela’s voice turned slightly frigid and she seemed ready to say more, when her head cocked to one side and she sighed. “But it seems our fretting has been for nothing. Mariah’s with Kodlak as we speak.”

Both Vilkas and Farkas launched up out of their chairs, nearly bowling Aela over as they rushed down the hall to Kodlak’s chambers. The door was cracked open and Vilkas could smell Mariah’s sweet, familiar scent as he brushed it open. Mariah and Kodlak looked up in surprise as the brothers staggered to a halt.

“Ah, I was wondering where you boys were,” Kodlak smiled, but his eyes held a certain hardness. “Come in. Shut the door.” Vilkas turned to close the door and glimpsed Aela crossing the hall to her quarters. Her head snapped around to look Vilkas directly in the eye, her mouth curved lividly. _Your problem, not mine_ , her eyes seemed to say.

“Thank you for telling me, Mariah,” Kodlak said, taking one of the Breton girl’s hands and squeezing it affectionately. “Go on and get some rest.”

Mariah nodded respectfully and got to her feet, passing Farkas with a pressed smile. Her eyes shifted to Vilkas and he clearly saw the worry etching lines between her slender eyebrows. He nodded quiet encouragement, supressing his slight annoyance in favour of keeping a good relationship between them. Besides, she’d gone ahead and done what neither of them could do, so she had guts. Or maybe she was simply oblivious to everything going on; it wasn’t like Mariah knew that every member of the Circle was werewolves, or that Kodlak was haunted by a Daedra. Those topics weren’t exactly prime tell-all material.

Farkas sat across from Kodlak, leaving Vilkas to stand. It was Farkas who would be doing all the speaking, after all. Vilkas resorted to hovering next to Jörmungandr’s case, admiring the ice-like glass glimmering in the light of the sconces hung on the stone walls.

“Mariah told me of the events that transpired within Dustman’s Cairn,” Kodlak began slowly. “She seems to be slightly misinformed about us Companions. Would you mind explaining why you chose to transform into a werewolf with her as witness?”

“We were ambushed by Silver Hand.” Farkas began explaining what happened within the walls of the cairn, never going into great detail as Vilkas might have. Vilkas himself listened from afar, watching Kodlak’s face smooth and crease tightly throughout the brief description. By the end, Kodlak had settled his expression to a calm mask, though he was very troubled.

“It appears the Silver Hand wish to antagonize us,” Kodlak murmured. “They will have no such pleasure. We will ignore their goads and prompts and carry on as usual. I will speak to Skjor about this and have him warn everyone else to keep on their guard when exploring uncharted ruins. None of you will be travelling alone, is that clear?” Kodlak’s eyes settled on Farkas. “Allowing yourself to transform was against what we have discussed. I understand that it may have been difficult or even dangerous to have taken on the Silver Hand as a mere man, but that is what we are. _Men_. We should not rely so on the beast to fight our battles, even if the Silver Hands’ battle is with our other side.”

“Yes, Harbinger,” Farkas said.

“But you did well, son,” Kodlak went on. “Putting Mariah’s safety before your own was honourable. I would prefer it if you remained her Shield-Brother on missions, and that you continue to train together.”

“Thank you, Kodlak,” Farkas’ eyes lit up. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Kodlak chuckled, waving a hand in dismissal. “Off to bed, young pup. We have a long day preparing for the celebration tomorrow.” Farkas left the room, glowing from Kodlak’s praise, but Vilkas lingered within the room. Kodlak’s warmth didn’t touch him, not today.

“I know how you feel about Mariah,” the Harbinger said, rising from his chair stiffly. “This is precisely my reasoning for keeping Farkas and her together. I made the right decision – the first in a long while.”

“Master-” Vilkas objected, but Kodlak cut him off with a sharp glance.

“Vilkas, we have often spoken about many things. The desire to search for a mate comes from not the heart or mind of a man, but from the hunger of the beast,” Kodlak said. “Mariah is a girl, innocent. She is so terribly young and… well, I fear for her safety should she be with you.”

“I would never hurt her!” Vilkas exclaimed. “Do you have no trust in me?”

“I do. I have a great amount of trust in you, my boy,” Kodlak smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you are fierce, fiery. You honour your strength and abilities but you have no love for yourself as a man. You are tainted by the wolf, and until you learn to listen to this,” he poked a gnarled finger into Vilkas’ chest over his heart. “As opposed to this,” he raised that same finger to Vilkas’ forehead. “Then I cannot trust you with her.”

“Why are you so protective of Mariah?” Vilkas questioned, a challenge, his voice solemn as he watched Kodlak take leave and enter his bedroom. Kodlak hesitated before answering, in an equally solemn timbre: “I see an impressionable child brimming with naivety. Your beast sees a woman, a mate. I trust you are intelligent enough to understand where I am coming from, and what dangers it could pose.” He shut the door without another word, leaving Vilkas to return to his own room.

The beast inside whined fretfully, its claws curling Vilkas’ fingers into fists.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't make you wait too long.

“Hold it steady,” Njada warned from the top of the ladder Mariah was holding from below. It was a rickety old thing, barely safe enough to be climbed on, but she was stubborn and clearly believed that balancing at its very edge to hang the braided rope of lantern-strung vine was a good idea. Mariah blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, fervently wishing she’d tied her locks back into a ponytail. She felt someone take her hair at that moment and she jumped, making the ladder clatter and Njada openly swear in fright.

“Sorry I scared you,” Farkas rumbled behind Mariah, gathering her hair into his fist and tying it with a string of leather. “It’s been buggin’ you all day, hasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” Mariah chuckled. “I should have never cut my bangs. It was so much easier to put it all back, like I used to.” She glanced at Farkas beside her and his thick dark hair hanging around his shoulders. “It’s too warm to have to down like that. Aren’t you going to tie yours back?”

Athis was the one who answered, carrying a table holding two huge kegs of mead between himself and Torvar. “I’ve started to think he prefers leavin’ it down. Even in battle, you’ll see him runnin’ about with it streamin’ out behind him, blindin’ him half of the time. Crazy oaf!” the dark elf sneered good-naturedly. Farkas made a face at him, making Mariah laugh. It was going to be a good day.

Njada clambered back down the ladder and looked up to check whether the vine was straight or not. “Hmm, Mariah? Tell me if it looks right to you. I think it needs a bit more at that end.”

Mariah went to the other side of the patio to study the vine. Njada was right; it needed just a bit more at the right end. She went up the ladder herself, having gauged how much it probably needed, and gave the end of it a light tug.

The jerk made the ladder suddenly wobble and Mariah pitched backwards with a gasp. She waited for the painful thump on the stone ground but was instead caught in a strong pair of arms. “Easy there, sis’,” Farkas’ amused voice rang out and she opened her eyes. It was Farkas who’d indeed caught her. He set her down gently and Mariah smiled up at him in appreciation.

“That would have hurt.” And so would have landing in him arms if he was wearing his usual wolf armour. Farkas had swapped his armour for a light-weight shirt and dark trousers. He looked startlingly casual, like an everyday citizen, maybe a soldier on leave or a mercenary taking some time off. Mariah knew better, of course. The corded muscles bunched beneath the fabric of his shirt spoke of years of heavy training and vast amounts of agility and strength. Mariah could feel her eyes purposefully lingering and she looked away, her face warm.

It wasn’t _this_ brother she was interested in, though she’d never admit it to his face. She had a strange, slightly-sick feeling that Farkas saw her as more than a Shield-Sister, and she really didn’t want it. It would only result in heartbreak – probably for both of them, considering how much she cared about her Shield-Brother.

One of the doors creaked open and Mariah stirred, her eyes immediately seeking out who she thought it might be. She stifled her disappointment as Ria glided across the patio to where Njada was rifling through a large tote of decorations. Torvar and Athis were arranging the large bench tables to line the patio and leave the center cleared for people to stand, or dance should anyone got drunk enough. A raised platform had been arranged for the bards and several small, round tables had been borrowed from the Bannered Mare to occupy the edges of the training yard. Posts hung with lanterns sat next to each one with a thick rope cable stringing a large circle along the perimeter. Smack-dab in the middle of the training yard was a small wooden box sitting on a table with a linen sheet draped over it; as to what was inside, Mariah had no idea, but she’d been told to stay away from it. She figured it had to do with the Wuuthrad shards, though she couldn’t understand why they’d be left in such an unguarded manner. It probably wasn’t the shards.

“Mariah!” Njada’s voice was strained with irritation as she came to Mariah’s side. “Are you off in some other land or what? I asked you to go wake up Vilkas. It’s about time he got his arse out of bed and helped us set up. Aela and Skjor took off like a shot before sunrise, so we need all the people we can get.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Mariah held up her hands in surrender, hurrying inside before Njada decided to chomp her arm off or something as equally drastic. Mariah was moving so quickly that she barely registered Vilkas coming out the other side of the very same door she was opening, and slammed into him, her forehead banging against his jaw. Dark spots filled her vision as she staggered, a muted apology on her lips.

“Careful!” Vilkas exclaimed, snagging her and holding her steady so she wouldn’t trip over her unsteady feet. Mariah stuck a quick smile on her face, blinking furiously to clear her sight as she gazed forward. She felt Vilkas steer her to one of the little benches lining the walls under the windows, a low chuckle rippling up from his chest. “Can you see yet?”

“Yeah,” Mariah felt something flutter in front of her nose and she strained to focus. Vilkas’ shadowy shape emerged and with it, a pair of concerned blue eyes. Mariah realized she was staring and her cheeks blushed pink. “Sorry about that.” She noticed his chin was slightly reddened from where she’d knocked it.

“Has anyone told you you’ve got a head of steel?” Vilkas joked. He went to the large table, filled a cup with clear liquid, and brought it back to Mariah, ordering her to drink. She did, sipping the lukewarm water slowly. Tiny grains of sand and the familiar tang of metal were prominent in the unfiltered water, but she felt steady enough to get to her feet again.

“What was the big hurry?” Vilkas asked. “Got a date with some spoiled lord I don’t know about?”

“No!” Mariah snorted. “I was looking for you, actually.”

“Ah, what have I done to receive such a pleasure?” He was clearly teasing her, good-naturedly, and Mariah was willing to bet a whole purse of septims that her head wasn’t spinning as it was just because of its little bump. Mariah was seeking a good response when she glimpsed Ria come in and make it pointedly clear that she was looking for Vilkas.

“Njada wanted me to find you to help out, is all,” Mariah said, well aware of the Imperial’s feelings for Vilkas. She wasn’t going to admit to the little flame of jealousy every time Ria came skulking around, sniffing out her mentor, and she certainly wasn’t going to start a cat fight. She was better than that, or at least she hoped. “I think Ria needs you,” she opted for, cutting their conversation awkwardly, turning to head back outside. She heard the beginnings of her name on his lips as the door closed behind her, and she sighed. Njada was staring at her.

“Well?” the Nord warrior demanded.

“He’s got his hands full right now,” Mariah answered meekly, ignoring the look on Njada’s face as she brushed by her to throw herself into finishing with the decorations.

~*~

With a final slash of her daggers, the hay-stuffed dummy broke free from its post and dropped to the ground, defeated. Mariah bent to pick up the burlap, staring at all the holes she’d cut into the tough fabric. She left the dummy where it lay and sheathed her daggers, going to the wall and sitting down, back pressed up against the cool stone. She panted, wiping the strokes of sweat from her brow, tired from beating the dummy to pieces. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of the wind blowing off the plains, spiced with hints of wood smoke and fresh-cut flowers.

“Poor thing had it coming,” a familiar voice commented. Mariah opened her eyes and saw Aela standing at the edge of the patio, her long red hair glowing like copper under the fading light of dusk and the glow of the lanterns. The huntress jogged down the steps with a lupine grace until she stood but a few feet away from Mariah. She wore armour, brown and green leather adorned with hard gray iron and ginger fur. It was the armour of the dead, the outfit of the Ancient Nords. Aela’s face was dabbed with three strokes of mossy green paint, like claw marks leaving shreds in her strong face.

“It would be a true treat to see you in a fight,” Aela continued, the praise clear in her tone. “You’re more than just an able-bodied fighter. You have the ferocity of a good warrior. Perhaps a small test, if you will?” Aela’s hand dropped to finger the dagger at her own hip. Mariah raised her eyebrow in question and the huntress laughed at the uncertainty on her new Shield-Sister’s face.

“You want to fight me?”

“Aye, that I do,” Aela unsheathed her dagger and used it to casually trim the edge of one nail, tended to as well as her gleaming auburn mane. Mariah wondered how the huntress had the time to keep up her appearance. It was one more thing to add to the growing list of things Mariah admired, and feared, about Aela.

“So what will it be?’ Aela asked, her voice ringing slightly, holding up her dagger. “We’ve a few minutes before the party.”

“I don’t want to show up bleeding,” Mariah uttered, low enough for her own ears, but Aela chuckled, having caught her words. The huntress sheathed her dagger and reached out her hand, offering it to Mariah to pull herself up with. Mariah clasped her hand around Aela’s, blinking in surprise at the heat emitting from the wide palm and long fingers, and found that she was somewhat shorter than the huntress. Aela stood tall; even with the low heel in her boots, she was still a tower of broad-shouldered strength and slender-muscled grace. Mariah felt petty compared to her, even with the bush of hair jutting from her scalp that made her stick out like a sore thumb. Aela smiled sympathetically, as though reading Mariah’s thoughts.

“Every warrior starts somewhere,” she murmured encouragingly, gesturing behind her as she added, “And this is where you begin, alongside us. I think that’s worth celebrating on its own, don’t you think?” Aela’s words were pretty uplifting, Mariah had to admit, and she couldn’t help but nod in agreement. She was joining the _Companions_ , for goodness sake!

“Well then,” Aela looped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders and steered her purposefully towards the mead hall’s doors. “Let’s go, Shield-Sister.”

~*~

Aela laid out the white linen dress on Mariah’s bed and glanced at her, gauging the Breton’s reaction. Mariah stared at it, expressionless, before reaching down and running her fingers over the soft fabric. It was a plain dress, as plain as the ones the farmers kept in their wardrobes, but it was the only dress Aela could scrounge up that was small enough to fit Mariah. Though old, the bottom hem was still intact, edged with cornflower blue and honey yellow flowers, tangled along a bright green vine. The same pattern ringed the hems of the cap sleeves, and the bosom laced up with a pale green ribbon.

“No-no, this is too much,” Mariah choked out. “I’m not wearing this!”

“Why not?” Aela was baffled. Sure, it wasn’t necessarily _her_ choice of dress, but it was pretty and it would suit the Breton perfectly. Aela sighed and stepped behind Mariah, gathering her thick hair and beginning to tug it into a braid. Mariah winced a few times, yelping and trying to pull away once, but eventually resorted to shuffling her feet and biting down on her lip every time Aela snagged a single hair sharply. Aela made Mariah hold the end of the braid as she sought out a ribbon in the wardrobe drawer, and came up with a light pink ribbon, a bit like the colour of cooked salmon. She knotted it into a bow and stepped back, admiring the – if frizzy – plaits.

“There, now put that dress on and find yourself some shoes. I need to grab something from my room.” And off she went, her hair swinging purposefully. Mariah rolled her eyes and began removing her armour, unlacing it quickly and tugging each piece off until she was down to her breast band and underwear. She thought to wipe herself down with water from Njada’s washbasin (all the while snickering to herself) and had slipped into the dress just as Aela came around the corner.

“Looks good. Here, you can borrow these.” The huntress held out two loops of some kind, and Mariah took it to have a better look. It was a thick macramé of dark chestnut cord, with small charms carved from mammoth ivory and set with malachite dangling from each knot.

“These are pretty,” Mariah said, smiling in appreciation. “Thanks, Aela. I’ll take good care of it.”

“They were my foremother’s,” Aela explained. “My forefather hunted down a mammoth with but a bow and his dagger. The story goes that he sacrificed his bow to shoot the dagger into the mammoth’s neck, since its skin was as tough as iron. He sold the carcass to a nearby village but took one of the tusks, and carved those tiny characters from the ivory, then presented it to his lover – who became his wife after hearing such a tale.”

“He must have really loved her, to go through the trouble,” Mariah commented. “What are these charms?”

“They represent the Ancient Nordic Pantheon,” Aela answered. “The bird represents Kynareth, the bear is Stendarr, the wolf is Mara, the fox is Talos… and so on.”

“Talos,” Mariah repeated, fingering the little fox head. Its green eye gleamed in the light of the lanterns. “Do you think he really became a Divine and that he’s up there, watching over us with the rest of them?”

“The freedom to believe what we want is ours,” Aela responded strongly. “So long as we do not go looking for trouble, mind you.”

Mariah laughed and slipped the bracelets onto her wrist. The charms clinked together, feeling cool on her skin. She thanked Aela once more and brushed out her skirts. “Are you sure this looks alright? I don’t look silly, do I?”

“It is what’s inside that matters, Shield-Sister,” Aela said, guiding Mariah from the whelps’ quarters and towards the door. They paused there, and Aela fixed a misshapen strand of Mariah’s hair, her expression soft with kindness. “Remember that this party is for you, too. Approach it with pride – tonight is a night full of promises.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on chapter five. As always, I hope you enjoy!

“I was right. I look silly.”

Mariah stood outside the doors to the patio, taking several steadying breaths. She was shaking slightly, her fingers colder than the night and her face felt hot and damp. If the doors burst open she knew she would unsnap like a coiled spring and take off to hide. She looked down at the dress again, running her hands through the lightweight fabric, and swallowed her thudding heart back down, but it was little use. It just popped right back into her mouth and hammered away like a woodpecker. _Bang! Bang! BANG!_ Someone was going to hear it, she was sure.

Mariah laughed then, remembering that a certain percentage of the Companions _could_ indeed hear her fussing and worrying right on the other side of the door. They were probably all laughing out there, waiting to cheer her on the moment she poked her nose outside. Mariah lifted her hand to lift the door lever but an icy grip seemed to stop her and she groaned in complaint, turning to sit on a bench until she regained her composure.

A startled shriek escaped her.

Vilkas stood not three paces away, an eyebrow subtly raised. “Having trouble with the door, Mariah?”

Mariah spluttered in embarrassment. “I-I am not!” she tried to speak convincingly but sounded as guilty as a cat with cream on its whiskers. “I was just… I was waiting for Aela.”

Vilkas nodded slowly, _mockingly_ , and came up the last of the steps, closing the distance between them. Mariah notice that he’d scrubbed his face clean of dirt and paint and donned his armour. His steely winter-blue stare rose to meet hers and her knees suddenly felt all wobbly, but she retained her footing. There was something so… alluring about Vilkas that took her breath away.

“I’m sure Aela’s a big girl. She can handle herself,” he said, leaning closer to her, hand reaching around behind her, to open the door for her. Mariah felt her breath halt in her throat as he drew close enough for her to smell his heavy, lupine scent. She breathed in instinctively, letting the scent flood her senses, and her eyes closed with the sheer rush of longing it brought her. Through her lashes she could see Vilkas, towering over her like a beacon in a storm, and something inside her stuttered fretfully as she noticed his mouth was just a few inches away. All it would take was a simple rise on her toes and the right angle of her head and…

It was Vilkas who bent lower first, his warm lips passing over hers briefly, sending a hundred sparks of uncontrolled flame through her blood. Mariah pushed up into the kiss, seeking more, wanting the wild sensations he evoked to last. She heard his stifled groan and felt the heat of his hands pass over her ribs and up her back, clutching her to him and making the little hairs on her arms stand on end. Mariah pressed into the space between them, her fingers bunching into the sleeves of his armour, tugging him closer, kissing him harder. A low growl hummed in his throat and he drew back, visibly refraining from his primal needs.

“They’ll be wondering where you are,” he said, a little hoarsely, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Go on. I’ll meet up with you in a moment.”

Mariah felt her lower lip pout slightly but Vilkas leaned around her and lifted the lever of the door, letting in a cool gust of night air. She stepped outside into the warm glow of the lanterns and the gentle strumming of a lute, and breathed deeply as the door shut softly behind her. She could still taste him as she swept the tip of her tongue over her lower lip and her cheeks inflamed at the maddening thoughts invading her mind, but she brushed them away and made her way into the throng of drinking and chatting people, suddenly desperate to occupy her head elsewhere before she was overwhelmed.

~*~

It had always been a strange thing, the way Vilkas knew when someone was nearby. Ria had noticed it in all of the members of the Circle; they seemed to always be prepared long before one walked around the corner or could easily seek someone out. It was also a bit disturbing, how conversations between some ceased the moment she or another Companion would walk into a room where Aela or Skjor were sitting together, or how those pale, almost-wolfish eyes would be watching from afar.

Ria wondered about this once again as Vilkas’ head slowly turned her way, _directly_ her way. Her palms began to sweat on the bannister she clutched and she was certain her fingers had left imprints as she’d watched, in white-hot jealously, as Vilkas bent his head to Mariah’s.

She knew she should have known; it was quite plain, the way the two stared after each other with expressions that matched the feelings Ria felt when she let her gaze linger on Vilkas. She feared her jealously was plain, in the eyes of the others, and she had no doubts the Circle was aware. No one had ever said anything, and no one had ever warned her otherwise, so Ria naturally assumed that Vilkas – unmarried and unwanted – was safe to wander after.

Ria hadn’t realized how dead wrong she was until it was too late, and it _hurt_.

As for Vilkas, he remembered when Ria first climbed the steps to the mead hall, chin raised proudly as she introduced herself to Kodlak and announced her interest in joining the Companions. Bursting with excitement and joy at being surrounded by the magnificent warriors she’d always dreamed of fighting alongside one day, Vilkas had quickly taken to her enthusiasm, and her naturally good looks, and requested to be her Shield-Brother, in the hopes of watching the young Imperial blossom into a powerful and honourable fighter.

But Ria’s desire to be a Companion overshadowed the unfortunate truth underneath. Not everyone was blooming with prowess and not everyone was born with the ability to adapt or grow, but within the first few months of endless and hard training, Vilkas began to see that Ria would never make as good a warrior as she would have to be. She was clumsy with a sword and worse with a bow, and she made a mess of even the simplest of training. Vilkas tried to be patient, and he spent months defending her, claiming he was going too hard on her, or some days not hard enough, but even his patience began to wear thin as Ria continuously proved again and again that her dream to join the Companions should have remained a dream.

It became disappointingly clear that Ria harboured affections for Vilkas, when all he’d hoped was that his relationship with her would remain a simple mentorship or an opportunity for himself. At first, he’d dismissed her lingering stares and smiles as mere gratitude, but it wasn’t, and as her increasingly obvious longing for him grew, he knew that it would only be harder the day he’d have to finally break her heart.

But it seemed that day had come at last, and he dreaded every step he took that brought himself closer to her, and within range of observing the struggle to gather her composure. It was clear and simple: Vilkas didn’t want Ria. She wasn’t the one whose scent mingled in the candle smoke at night, nor was she the one that drove him half-mad when she was steps away but too far to be touched.

Vilkas sighed with the weight of what came next, sending a quick prayer to the Gods to make it less painful than it was sure to be. If it was this hard to find the words to urge Ria away without breaking her, then he couldn’t imagine how it would feel to hear them spoken.

“Ria,” he began, speaking to her as he might a nervous animal. She visibly flinched, knowing she’d been caught and already understanding what was coming. She raised her large eyes in sorrow as he continued, “This needs to stop.”

“What are you talking about?” Ria tried to be coy but her voice trembled, giving herself away. There were tears in her eyes and she blinked quickly, fighting them off in a try of innocence, or perhaps bravery. The words stuck in Vilkas’ throat as it suddenly occurred to him that she would be feeling what he might feel, should Mariah have rejected him when he kissed her. It sent a fearful ache rippling through his chest, and he reached out and pulled one of Ria’s hands free from the bannister to clasp it between his.

“I know how you feel about me,” he murmured, guilt making him tense. “But I’m afraid I cannot return your love. I’m sorry.”

Ria’s hand went rigid and Vilkas saw coldness creep into her eyes, like a snare of darkness had plunged into her heart. Her face smoothened, tightening as she held herself together just long enough to tug her hand free and sharply mutter, “Very well.” With a swirl of crimson cotton and midnight black hair, she turned her back and briskly made her way down the steps to the sleeping quarters. Vilkas heard a smash behind the closed door and he sighed, leaning on the bannister and focusing on the weight lifting from his shoulders. It wasn’t as comforting a loss as he believed it would be; it truly only felt worse.

“That was not a wise choice tonight, Shield-Brother,” Aela remarked. Vilkas raised his head found himself nose to nose with the huntress. One slender brow was raised. “She won’t get over this soon.”

“You knew?” Vilkas asked meekly.

“Of course I did. I’m not blind,” she snorted, coming up the rest of the steps and gesturing for Vilkas to follow her to the doors. “I also knew that you’ve been repressing what you wolf wants. It is a dangerous game, Brother,” she added, her tone serious. “You cannot challenge the beast. You must run with it, otherwise you _will_ lose.”

“I make my own decisions,” Vilkas growled. “That monster doesn’t govern me like it does you and Skjor.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Vilkas.” Aela turned around fully, one hand resting on the door. Her fingers seemed to cling into the wood, her nails hooking between the old fibers. “You should stop trying to tame the beast. It won’t listen, and you’ll only suffer more because of it.”

Vilkas shook his head in disbelief, running a hand through his hair as he often did when he was frustrated. How could Aela believe the beast was a good thing? Furthermore, why defy the Harbinger so blatantly? Aela had risen to become a respected member of the Companion with her acts of bravery and selflessness, but her obsession with embracing what Hircine had bestowed upon them was more of a dangerous game than the one Vilkas was playing.

“We’re just the playthings of a Daedric Lord,” Vilkas said solemnly. “Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, every gift comes with a price,” he added, tearing his eyes away from the blazing hearth and facing Aela. She stood with her chin held arrogantly, her nostrils flaring, her sharp gaze scrutinizing and angry. “How much are you willing to sacrifice?”

“More than you,” her voice had lowered to a hollow chill. She came down the steps until she was standing nose to nose with Vilkas. “Holding onto weak ideals is for the race of men. We are _more_ than that. I will always strive for higher before I let my weaknesses bar me in.”

There was a quick tapping at the door and Vilkas glimpsed Farkas poke his head in. “You guys comin’? Kodlak wants us outside to begin the ceremony.”

“Just give us-” Aela began but Vilkas cut her off with a warning glance. “We’re on our way.” The door closed softly and Vilkas waited until Farkas’ footsteps had gone some distance before rounding on Aela and growled between his teeth, “As long as you stand beside us underneath this roof, you will obey Kodlak’s every word. We will speak nothing of this conversation once we step outside that door. Is that understood?”

“You live beneath a boat that is tipped over. Have you ever considered what a bad omen that could be?” The corner of her mouth curled slightly as she added, “Mind you don’t drown.”

~*~

 _I think I’m going to be sick_.

“Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal hold,” Kodlak spoke, his timbre rich and deep with years of speaking the very same words he spoke before Mariah. She felt slightly woozy and the only thing keeping her standing was paying half of her attention to the bristling hostility between Vilkas and Aela. The two warriors refused to look at each other, but when they did once, it was like electricity shocking the air. Mariah wondered if anyone else could feel it and, judging from the peculiar expressions on Farkas and Skjor’s faces, she was certain they had a better idea of what was going on more than she did.

“This woman had endured, has challenged, and had showed her valour. Who will speak for her?” Kodlak asked. His head angled towards Farkas at his side, but his eyes strayed to Vilkas, bearing a look of warning. Vilkas read it and lowered his head, pressing his lips together, and Farkas came forward to answer Kodlak’s question, beaming with pride. Mariah was warmed by his affection and it glossed over the brittle harshness of Vilkas’ apparent disappointment in not getting to speak for her.

“I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us,” Farkas said.

“Would you raise your shield in her defense?”

Farkas’ pale gaze sought and held Mariah’s and she shivered at the intensity she found there as he replied, “I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us.”

“And would you raise your sword in her honour?” Kodlak continued.

“It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes.” Mariah’s vision shifted and she noticed that Vilkas was soundlessly echoing his brother’s words. A faint smirk played at the corners of his mouth and she felt a swell of heat build in her chest in response.

“And would you raise a mug in her name?”

“I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories,” Farkas concluded strongly.

“I would like to add…” Vilkas said softly, looking to Kodlak for permission. The Harbinger barely supressed rolling his eyes but he nodded, waving his hand graciously. Vilkas turned to Mariah and uttered, “I am proud to call her Shield-Sister and I am honoured to welcome her as one of us. Should she ever need it, my sword stands ready to defend her against the dangers this world poses and, by my honour as a Companion, I stand ready to guide her against the sway of darkness.” To Mariah’s surprise, Vilkas knelt and bowed his head briefly, a hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip.

“I, too, shall stand by the side of this Companion and provide any aid she may ever need,” Aela spoke, kneeling gracefully. Her long red hair cascaded around her shoulders as she lowered her head, and Mariah glimpsed her head angle, fixing a challenging green stare on Vilkas. Mariah wondered if there was something she didn’t know about.

Kodlak seemed to think the same thing. Clearing his throat, he began the ending of the ceremony, waving to someone standing nearby in the shadows. It was Eorlund, bearing a parcel wrapped in red velvet trimmed with deep yellow cording. “Then the judgement of this circle is complete. Her heart beats with the same fury and courage that has united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beast with ours, now, so that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”

“It shall be so,” the others echoed strongly, then began to disperse, nodding respectfully to Kodlak as they joined the small clustered crowd of citizens overlooking the ceremony from the patio. The clinking on glasses and plates and the warm smell of food reached Mariah, making her stomach grumble with the realization that she was hungry. She hadn’t thought she would have the ability to eat after such a nerve-wracking evening.

“Mariah, this is for you,” Kodlak said, gesturing her to join his side next to the little table. He pulled the cloth from the top and her eyes curiously fell on the box placed in its middle. “Please, open it.”

Lifting the lid, Mariah found a set of wolf armour bundled inside. She reached out and stroked her hand down the chest plate then looked up with an appreciative twinkle in her eye. “Thank you, Harbinger.”

“And these,” Eorlund unwrapped the bound parcel to reveal two leather sheaths, each engraved with the symbol of Wuuthrad, the ancient axe of Ysgramor. Mariah unsheathed one and held up the slender silver dagger, admiring its craftsmanship. A streak of black cut down the middle, sparking faintly as the lantern light caught what she guessed was ebony. “Ebonsteel,” she breathed. “These are beautiful.”

“And powerful. They should be a nice replacement for your current daggers,” Kodlak smiled as she carefully slid the dagger back into its sheath and accepted the bundle.

“I’ll take these inside to my room, for safekeeping,” she announced. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Mariah had made it no farther than halfway around the patio when Vilkas fell in step beside her. “That wasn’t too much for you, was it?”

“The ceremony? Oh, no.” She held up the daggers. “I’m just taking these in. You can come with me if you want.”

“They’re meant to be strapped to that side of yours, not displayed before they’ve ever been used,” Vilkas joked, intending to follow her, but they heard Farkas call his name. A brief torn look crossed his face but Mariah gave him a little push. “Go on - save me a dance, would you? I’ll meet you in a moment.”

“Yeah, but before you do-” Vilkas pulled Mariah into his arms and kissed her with great fervor, clutching her like she might break. Mariah sank into his touch, feeling the rasp of his stubble on her chin and the contrasting softness of his warm lips. It ended all too soon and a cool breath of wind replaced the comforting nearness she was coming to grow more fond of by the second. Her eyes fluttered open to see Vilkas still standing over her, hesitant to move away, appearing slightly puzzled.

“What is it?” Mariah asked.

“It’s just…” He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “The more of you I’m offered, the more I want to take. Why is a little never enough?”

“Because a little never _is_ enough,” Mariah teased, reaching up and running the tip of her finger across his lower lip. They parted in response and he snatched her hand, pressing his lips to her palm. His teeth nipped slightly and Mariah’s breath caught, the sound barely above a whisper, but Vilkas’ sensitive ears heard it. “Farkas is waiting.”

A low growl emitted from his throat but he let go of her hand. Mariah stepped backwards, raking her teeth across her lower lip and taunting him with a seducing look. She whirled away as Vilkas lunged to snatch her and, giggling, fled into the safety of Jorrvaskr.

Mariah headed own to the sleeping quarters and had just stepped into the whelps’ room when she heard a low, keening sound, not unlike an animal in pain. She peered down the hall, wondering if a stray dog had found its way in and was perhaps lost, and she started down the hall, peering under the tables and chairs. The nearer she got to the single bedrooms that belonged to the members of the Circle, the louder the sound got, and the more her arm hair began to stand on end.

“Hello?” she called out softly. “Someone there?”

Tracking the noise to Aela’s room, Mariah found the door half-open. She unwrapped her ebonsteel daggers and pushed the door open fully, peering into the gloom. Only a single candle was lit, giving off a weak glow on the table in the corner. Someone suddenly swore, the sound making Mariah gasp in fright and whirl around, and she came face to face with Skjor.

“Skjor!” she exclaimed, partially relieved. “I thought I heard something. Is everything…” her voice trailed off as she noticed the expression on the warrior’s face. He held a bundle in his hand – some sort of fabric it looked like. “What’s going on? Did something happen to Aela? Is she wounded?” Mariah began to turn back towards Aela’s room, turning her back to Skjor, and the next thing she knew, dark fabric was being yanked down over her face. Something hard clouted her over the back of the head and she fell into a strong set of arms.

The daggers glinted forlornly in the pooling red and yellow velvet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: If you're a bit squeamish about rituals involving blood, you might want to let a friend read this first. It's not too disturbing or heavily detailed, but it closely examines (and explains) the outline of how werewolves in my world work... and become werewolves. 
> 
> Please note that this chapter marks the end of my retelling of the original work and delves into shiny, new stuff. It also begins to step away from the canon Companions storyline. I'm developing the story chapter by chapter, so I hope you continue to enjoy and leave good feedback. Thanks for sticking with me so far! 
> 
> For notes on werewolves in my universe, please see the notes provided at the bottom. These notes will be ever-growing, so keep an eye out for more stuff that will help make sense as this tale continues.

“Where am I?”

The place where Mariah came to was dark and smelled strongly of wolf. Wracking her memory, she vaguely recalled going out on a job to clear out a local den of wolves, but cave floor hadn’t been as smooth and no light had come from the hole in the ceiling. Shapes moved nearby, one man-shaped and the other something much, much bigger. A canine head swung to follow the man and Mariah felt her blood run cold at a growl.

“You are in the Underforge, whelp,” Skjor’s low voice echoed off the stone walls, reappearing with a torch in hand. He tilted it into a brazier and it burst to life, casting a golden glow off the warrior’s face. He raised his head to look at where Mariah sat on the floor nearby the entrance. “This place taps into an ancient magic that goes beyond the time of men or elves. I have chosen to bring you here because I see potential in you, but you must first become stronger.”

“Stronger?” Mariah echoed. “How?”

Skjor carried on as though he hadn’t heard her. “I always believed the Companions were the greatest warriors in Skyrim, the most honourable, but I have learned that mere men and women are not strong on their own. A man may spend his entire life learning the art of the sword but one day he will become old and frail, and all that knowledge will have been wasted. Our human shells are weak and soft, not befit for the potentials we can reach.”

Skjor crossed the room and tipped the torch into a second brazier. As it exploded to life, Mariah’s eyes fell on the hulking werewolf standing in the back corner of the Underforge. Her fur was the colour of rust and her lupine green eyes followed Skjor as he came to stand before Mariah.

“I hope you recognize Aela as the beast she truly is,” he confirmed the thought buzzing around Mariah’s head. “She has agreed to be your forebear and your mentor. It is through her that you will find glory.”

“You’re turning me into a werewolf?” Mariah whispered hoarsely. Her eyes were glued to Aela, watching her curl her claws inward. Her pelt shone like copper in the nearby flames and her head swung Mariah’s way, inquisitive gaze clearly thinking. “Don’t I get a say in the matter?”

“Does a baby ask to be born from its mother’s womb? Does an animal ask to live on the day it’s destined to die? There are some choices that are made in this world without our consult. Aela and I have decided your fate, but in time, you will come to appreciate the gifts we are to bestow upon you.” Tossing the torch aside, he bent to help Mariah to her feet but she squirmed away, shaking like a leaf.

“Th-this is wrong. Did Kodlak say you could do this?” Mariah asked. A flicker passed through Skjor’s eyes and she shook her head in angry disappointment. “No, I didn’t think so. How many others have you done this to? Did Vilkas and Farkas suffer the same thing?”

“Suffer?” Skjor echoed in surprise. “Whoever said they were suffering? Becoming a werewolf has no suffering to it, as long as you accept it as the undeniable truth. It is because they’ve turned their backs on Hircine’s blessing that it causes them to suffer. Aela would tell you the same thing, as would any other werewolf who has freely given themselves over to the Lord of the Hunt.”

“Until Kodlak says you can turn me, then you have no right to go through with this insanity,” Mariah snapped. “I want out of here. Let me go.”

“Kodlak is a fool. I love the man, but he is growing blind,” Skjor said. “He once enjoyed the boon of the hunt and relished in his bloodlust. Meeting Shor and Ysgramor, and spending an eternity growing fat in Sovngarde is a simpleton’s dream. Aela and I have chosen to spend our afterlife in the Hunting Grounds. The twins will come to learn what is right, and so will you, as well as all the other whelps that will come after your turn here.”

“This isn’t right!” Mariah urged, struggling to her feet and edging backwards towards what she was sure was the opening to the Underforge. She honestly had no idea where she really was. “You’re going to let me out of here or…or…”

“Or what?” Skjor held out his hands, a humoured expression twisting his features. His one blind eye glowed in the firelight. “You’ll scream? No one can hear you. That stone wall is six feet thick. Nothing can penetrate it.”

Mariah stared in raw disbelief. “So what? You’ll keep me prisoner down here until I give in?”

“Well, Aela and I ought to get hungry at some point, and nothing tastes better than fresh meat.” He eyed her pointedly, letting his words sink in, and Mariah, overwhelmed by the very thought of it, felt her knees weaken. She glimpsed a pull chain in the alcove next to her and jerked towards it, wrapping her fingers around the curved metal.

Skjor snagged her before she could pull hard enough and she screamed as he hoisted her up over his shoulder, bringing a rushing sensation of nausea. Kicking desperately, she tried to wriggle free, but his grip on her was secure. “Let go!” she yelled. “I don’t want to be a werewolf!”

“Sorry, whelp, but this is how it must be. This is how it will always be,” Skjor set her down and turned her to face him, gripping her arms so she wouldn’t be able to free herself. “And when Kodlak lies dead and I become Harbinger, the Companions will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies and we will know glory for what it truly is.”

“You’re mad, both of you!” Mariah hissed. “When Kodlak finds out about this, he’ll have your heads.”

“Oh, there’s one more thing I should mention,” Skjor glanced at Aela, who padded close enough for Mariah to glimpse her bared fangs. She smelled something terribly similar to rotten carcass as the huntress’ breath blasted over the side of her face. “You’ll find that the joy of the hunt surpasses your weak ideals of a human. Once you are one of us, you will never want to let this gift go.”

“What about Kodlak?” Mariah challenged, twisting so Aela would stop breathing on her cheek. “He’s given up your so-called precious hunting. Who says I won’t turn against you?”

“That’s the other thing.” Aela let out a growl and nudged Mariah so she would look at her. “With Aela as your forebear, you will not be able to turn against her or any she is aligned with. And since I am her mate…” he smiled smugly and Mariah felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. “It ensures that the pack retains order, even if its members choose to run wild. The pack always knows its family, and Hircine makes it so that you cannot harm those nearest to you.”

Skjor released her and spun her around, pushing her up against the stone basin and planting a knee between hers so she couldn’t run. She looked over her shoulder and watched in stark terror as Skjor stroked a hand under Aela’s jaw and gathered her arm, stretching it out over the basin. He drew a dagger and Mariah wriggled, trying to slip over his thigh, and Skjor slashed Aela’s wrist. Blood spurted and began to pool in the bottom of the basin, dark red against the smoothened gray. It smelled richly of iron and seemed to steam. _Hot blooded_ , Mariah thought sickeningly.

“Now we can do this one of two ways,” Skjor began. “You can take the blood willingly or I’ll force you to. Your choice.”

“You mean… I have to drink it?” Mariah mumbled hollowly.

“Yes, that’s what I mean.” He let Aela’s arm down once the basin had filled to a satisfactory amount, maybe a few cups worth, and placed a hand on Mariah’s back. “I’m going to move my knee. You’re going to drink that with this,” he reached around her head and held a steel tankard in front of her face. She reached up and took it.

Mariah was running the moment Skjor’s leg moved, making a dash for the tunnel in the side of the Underforge. She’d made it onto a few steps into the dark passage, stubbing her toes as she went, when a hand caught the end of her braid and yanked her to a halt.

“ _Noooo!_ Let go! Help me!” Mariah screamed, ignoring the shooting pain in her head and trying to rip free, cursing her hair, cursing everything. “Someone help!”

“C’mere, you stupid whelp,” Skjor growled, getting an arm around her waist and hauling her back into the Underforge. The tears broke past the dam and Mariah sobbed relentlessly, screaming and pleading Skjor to let her free. He wouldn’t listen; he simply dragged her back to the blood-filled basin, his arm an iron bar she couldn’t bend, and jerked her to her feet. He grabbed the back of her neck and bent her forward until her nose was a mere inch away from the blood. Mariah could feel its warmth and it made her stomach turn. She gripped the edge of the basin, bracing herself against it.

“This didn’t have to be so hard if you just _obeyed_ ,” Skjor snarled, shoving Mariah’s head down the rest of the way and facedown into the blood. Mariah pushed back but Skjor wouldn’t let her up and she kicked out a back foot, trying to strike him, but her soft shoes weren’t made for fighting. She snorted and felt the rush of blood shoot up her nose and she coughing in response, choking in a bitter-tasting mouthful.

“Swallow it,” Skjor growled in her ear. His hand slid up to her neck and rubbed her throat, convincing her to swallow against her will. It hit her gut and she felt her stomach curdle in response, but that wasn’t all.

A distant “It’s beginning,” echoed nearby and Mariah realized her instincts were shifting as she began gulping the blood. She knew she was fighting against it but something else was seizing her – a force she had no control of or any chance of stopping. It suddenly made sense to her what Skjor meant by being taken over by the beast. It had a mind of its own and Mariah could feel herself slipping away as a foul darkness consumed her inside out.

Mariah felt a sudden presence within her, coiled beneath the skin, stretching like a tiny creature taking its first breaths of life. She thought of butterflies and how they crawled out from their cocoon and into the sun to stretch their wings. She also imagined wolves and how they ran together, brushing each other as they leaped and bounded though the wilds, reminding each other they were near and in the hunt together. That presence within her acknowledged the mind nearby that Mariah quickly recognized as Aela’s and, soon after, Skjor’s. Aela was fire and might, the thrill of battle and the breathtaking freedom of an eagle flying high in the mountains. Skjor was dark and intimidating, a thunderstorm on the horizon, the promise of the hunt. They appealed to her and felt comforting, but not to what was left of Mariah. She recoiled, trying to find herself in the confusing mass of sensations rippling through her very flesh.

The beast awoke and Mariah saw it head on. It ran towards her, teeth bright in a dark mouth, fur glowing like the rays of the sun, the colour and smell of autumn. It snarled at her, chasing her, and it launched itself for her jugular. It seized her, grappling with her and tearing her humanity to shreds. Mariah fought it but it hurt; it burned like white-hot coals, but the more she tried to hide from the pain and let the wolf win, the less it hurt. She knew what was happening and it horrified her… but she couldn’t help herself.

Mariah blindly staggered to her feet and stumbled down the passageway, bouncing off the walls as she tried to keep her feet. She felt her skin stretching, her muscles bursting with newfound strength, and everything around her smelled anew. She could hear the wilds, taste it, breathe it. Her eyes were wide open and seeing the world as it was meant to be, and Mariah fell into the sense of freedom, letting the wolf carry her the rest of the way. Her body bulked and tripled in size and height, and when the moon fell on the shape that stumbled out into the plains, it was no longer human.

Throwing back her head and letting out a long, mournful howl, Mariah shredded the last of the girl she’d once been and charged out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves come in a variety of colours in my universe! Hair colour and age determines pelt colour. The same goes for eyes, though when a person becomes a werewolf, their eye colour will brighten significantly. This is in relation to what guards will say to you: "I find your wolfish grin... unsettling" or "Is that fur? Coming out of your ears?" A little bit of Hircine's gifts/curses shine through, some stronger in others.
> 
> Wolves in the natural world work in a hierarchy system, being led by an Alpha and his mate. The other ranks that are most commonly known are Beta, Gamma and Delta (also known as "subordinate wolves", and ending with the weakest of the pack, which is the Omega. The same goes for werewolves, though there are some minor and major differences (for the sake of storytelling). I will try to be as accurate as possible without turning this into some nature documentary.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed that no matter what Vilkas said or did, Kodlak refused to listen. Efforts feeling not unlike a waste of breath, Vilkas’ throat finally grew hoarse from arguing and he slumped into the chair next to the Harbinger, burying his face in his hands and fighting the childlike urge to cry. He felt helpless, and frightened, and couldn’t understand why Kodlak wouldn’t let him leave Jorrvaskr and look for Mariah.

What he was most frightened of was not what Mariah might choose to do against her will, or even what Aela and Skjor had planned for her. He hadn’t yet let his mind reach those concerns; Kodlak would have already prepared for this kind of news, sending Athis to check with the courier service for any missives surrounding devastation or “wild beasts” tormenting local settlements, while Ria, Njada, and Torvar were out clearing White River Watch, where Hajvarr Iron-Hand had holed up with a group of bandits and former mercenaries.

Farkas had returned an hour beforehand and Vilkas could hear him shifting in discomfort in his sleep; having spent the entirety of the night out tracking Mariah, Aela, and Skjor’s whereabouts, and coming up with nothing but a trail having gone cold on the Falkreath border, made Vilkas determined to continue where his brother had left off. It had rained hard in the early hours before dawn, stirring up the loose foliage and filling the air with green scents that would have covered up even the most familiar of smells. Still, it didn’t discourage Vilkas, and he was all but ready to completely disregard his Harbinger’s word and simply leave.

“My boy,” Kodlak began gently. “You realize that we must let Mariah want to come home, before we have any chance of keeping her safely. She is a new-blood and the ways of the beast are all brand new to her. We must let her experience these ways and let her settle, to avoid bringing a potential risk into our halls.”

“She isn’t safe out there,” Vilkas pressed urgently. “The daggers were on the ground outside Aela’s room. Doesn’t that say enough? Who knows what Aela and Skjor are doing to her?”

“When they return, I will speak with them about their little ritual,” Kodlak promised. “I can assure you this will not happen again. I will have to keep better watch over them. The beast makes them reckless.”

“It’s not the beast. It’s _them_ ,” Vilkas exclaimed, his voice straining with the effort to keep from shouting again. Kodlak lifted his gaze; his eyes were glazed with tire and concern, but the old man just shook his head and got to his feet, a little unsteadily, Vilkas noted.

“Forgive me, Vilkas, but I find myself very tried suddenly,” Kodlak announced softly, and his expression turned steely. “I do not want to hear from Farkas that you left the city for any reasons, am I understood? You must understand that I am as concerned as you are, perhaps more. Not only have we lost another courageous heart to damned Hircine, but now I ought to find someone else who can take my place as Harbinger.”

“Master, do not say-”

“Vilkas, you are dismissed,” Kodlak added, a little sharper than necessary. “I will see you at dinner.” With these words, he disappeared into his private chambers and Vilkas could hear him unbuckling the straps of his armour with slow fingers. He let out a frustrated sigh and got to his feet, pacing down the hall as his mind thought out different scenarios.

Eventually, Vilkas had a half-formed plan set in motion and he was shaking Farkas awake. Ice-blue eyes blinked up questionably, sunken into tired bags the colour of soft bruises and smudged with traces of war paint. Farkas grunted and sat up, cracking his neck and rolling his bare shoulders, jaws stretching in a yawn. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Aye,” Vilkas said, pausing in the doorframe and gesturing for Farkas to get his armour back on. “You’re coming with me to Falkreath.”

~*~

Sunlight filtered through the branches of pine; dapples of gold spotted the mossy forest floor, spread with a thick layer of needles and ferns. A thin stream tumbled over a shallow stony riverbed, its silver currents rolling in ribbons between dark gray stones, feeding a deep clear pool at the base of a sloped sheltered by coarse brush and a shelf of rock hanging with moss. Curled in a heap of auburn fur streaked with dried blood, stirring the leaves at her snout as she breathed deeply, was Mariah, fast asleep in the sparse sunlight. A crow cawed from the high branches of an elderly pine some yards away, breaking the peaceful silence, and she grumbled awake, pupils rolling between slit and moon as her lupine gaze took in the forest surroundings.

Yawning, Mariah rolled onto her back and sneezed, disturbing the dust particles hovering in a shaft of yellow sunlight above her head. She lifted a paw to bat at it and froze, staring at the abnormally extended hand covered with reddish fur and ending in claws like eagle talons. Her eyes followed her arm and she sat up, shifting as to not crush her tail below her, and studied the bestial form which she’d adopted. She was fixated on the strokes of dark blood mostly, breathing to make out what kind of blood it was; the human part of her brain overrode her werewolf senses and she hunched forward, tucking her long snout into her arms with a soft whine.

She was on her feet and whirling around, teeth drawn back in a fearsome snarl, at the crunch of footsteps. Aela stood next to a looming pine, her naked form half concealed by the low-hanging branches, one hand raised in reassurance. Mariah let the snarl slide off her face but still held her ground, staring the huntress down until she spoke: “Can you understand me?” Mariah bobbed her head after a brief hesitation and Aela smiled faintly. “Then it will not be for much longer until you’re back with us. Relax,” she added. “Skjor will be with us soon, but I thought to take the opportunity to bathe.”

Mariah made a short growl in the back of her throat and turned away slightly, observing the dense thicket of trees leading further down the slope to the dirt path cutting through the forest. She wasn’t certain of where they were, other than the fact that they must still be in Skyrim and, judging from the pine trees, the Pine Forests of Falkreath Hold. She smelled the air and listened to the nearby animal noises, particularly those of squirrels and birds.

All at once, Mariah felt herself overcome by humanistic sensations and she collapsed onto hand and knee, dragging in a gasp that made her chest ache. Her heart thundered in her ears and she felt as though her lungs were devoid of air, and the feeling lasted for what felt like an eternity. Her gaze fixed on her hand once more and, before her very eyes, she watched her fingers shorten in length. The rest of her body rippled and shuddered, achingly so, and she held in a shriek as the last wave of pain passed; when she managed to push herself to her feet, she was wholly a Breton again. She glanced at Aela, reclining in the pool, submerged to the waist and facing Mariah with a slightly despondent expression.

“It is always a saddening thing,” Aela murmured. “To set aside true beauty and strength… for this.”

“But you can be a werewolf whenever you want,” Mariah pointed out, but it rang more as a question. “You could stop being a Companion and live out here if you wanted, right?”

“I could, but I don’t. I can’t,” Aela said. “I live by a code, not written but engraved into my very being, that I must honour the Shield-Sisters before me until my dying breath. I never asked to be from a line of Companions, but I belong within their ranks, fighting for justice and righteousness. But I am a werewolf, and I am proud to be that too,” she added firmly. “The Companions you live among are not the weak-minded whelps I imagined they were. I want to live among heroes, fighters, true warriors with blood on their faces and thunder in their roars! Kodlak believes Hircine’s blessing is a curse, but I do not. I believe that if the Companions are to find glory, then it is as werewolves.”

“So when Skjor becomes Harbinger, the ceremony will be held for all new members?” Mariah asked, coming to the pool and stepping into it. It felt chilly but, once she had seated herself on a comfortable ledge across from Aela, she found the water to warm quickly. _Must have something to do with being hot-blooded_. Even now, in human form, she could feel an unbearable summer heat making the skin beneath her thick mane sweating. Out here, in the wilds, their constant movement in the air and the open land felt unconfined and free. She could barely imagine sleeping in the restricted space of the whelps quarter, stuck underground in a stone prison.

“Yes, that is what he and I planned,” Aela responded. “Not only will we be bound by honour, but we will be bound by blood. Skjor and I will lead them.”

“What of Njada and the rest of them?”

“Them too. I feel that Athis will take to the blood more than the others, and perhaps Njada. They are strong-minded, but that fire they bear in their hearts… a good foundation,” she replied.

There was one more thing Mariah wanted to ask, and she pondered on it for quite some time before hesitantly saying, “What about Farkas? And… and Vilkas?”

“They will have to make a choice.” Aela’s tone was final, as though she had already thought that one out. “They will be not bound to us as much as the rest, but we will act accordingly should they give us trouble, when the time comes. But if I’m right about how Vilkas feels for you…” she trailed off and smiled, letting the silence do the speaking. Mariah expected to feel a sense of protectiveness towards the twins, even to speak up and say her piece about _all_ of what Aela had proposed, but the simple will to obey forced her to say, “Yes, of course.”

For some strange reason, it felt better to agree then to argue against her forbear, and Skjor’s words in the Underforge rang in her memory. Mariah felt no need to disagree on a matter she knew her former self would have been furious with, and she instead focused on tearing a bit of moss free from the rock and using it like a sponge to clean the traces of blood from her arms. Aela did the same, and the sounds of splashing water and singing birds nearly muffled the approaching thumps of Skjor’s boots.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. Mariah jumped in surprise and wrapped her arms around her chest, fervently trying to hide her feminine bits, but Skjor and Aela just laughed. Setting a bundle of what looked like clothing on the top of a nearby rock, he knelt on one knee next to Aela and lowered his head to hers, kissing her fully but briefly. Mariah had the sense to lower her eyes and give them privacy, but looked up when Skjor announced, “Finish up, ladies. I brought your gear. They’re expecting us before midday.”

“They?” Mariah echoed. “Who are we meeting?”

“That’s a surprise.” Skjor grinned, showing his teeth, but Mariah didn’t feel any reassurance. In fact, she still felt a flutter of hostility towards the older warrior, clearly remembering that he’d forced her to become a beast. She honestly saw nothing bad of being a werewolf, but the tang of dislike settled like a veil around her mind when she saw Skjor. He must have sensed this somehow because, disregarding her nudity, he crouched at the edge of the pool next to her and said, with much somber in his tone, “Forgive how roughly I treated you last night. Aela and I were certain that we wanted your heart among ours, and it was the only way. I hope you will find it in yourself to accept me as kin, as you have accepted the wolf.”

“We will see,” Mariah said softly, locking gazes with Skjor. She let a hard finality shine from them until Skjor looked away and, trailing water, she exited the pool and made for the rock with the armour on it. Picking up one of the sets of leather and straps, she started towards a clump of closely-grown trees nearby and glanced back just in time to see Aela curling her fingers into Skjor’s collar and pulling him down for a second, far more intimate, kiss.

~*~

“I stopped here,” Farkas announced as he and Vilkas reached a grassy clearing in the forest. “The rain washed away most of the trail by the time I made it here.”

Vilkas reined the heavy-muscled black mare to a halt and swung down from the saddle, leaving her to graze on the lush grass. He stepped into the clearing, searching the ground for any tracks, but the heavy rain had thudded and impacted most of the earth, and several other trails had crossed over what could have been even the slightest lead. The clearing could have been easily cleared in a single jump by a werewolf running at less than full speed, especially a newly turned one. The first change was the strongest and the wildest, and many whelps left a trail of carcasses and destruction in their path.

With Aela and Skjor guiding her, Mariah had seemingly left no path whatsoever; it was as though she’d drifted over the ground or, Gods, perhaps flown the entire way to wherever she was headed. Vilkas sighed and crouched in front of a clump of clover, running his fingers through the still-dewy leaves. A rush of anger surged through him and he tore his fingers into the clover, tearing it from the ground and flinging it away with an angry yell. He jumped back up to his feet and strode across the clearing, face set like stone.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Farkas called after him, dismounting and rushing to keep up. “Vilkas, we should head back. We don’t have anythin’ to go on.”

Vilkas didn’t respond and Farkas lengthened his stride, grabbing his brother’s shoulder. Vilkas just about exploded on contact, roughly shoving Farkas off and making a sound just short of a snarl. Farkas drew back his hand as though he feared it would get bitten.

“Can you stop for a minute and tell me what this is really about?”

“What is there to say?” Vilkas snapped. “I’m going to find Mariah, with or without your help. You’re her Shield-Brother, aren’t you?”

“You know Kodlak won’t be happy about this, Shield-Brother or not,” he pointed out. “You shouldn’t disobey him.”

A sneer split Vilkas’ face. “I’m not some young lad afraid of getting his ears boxed, Farkas. Unless you are…?”

“I’m not scared,” Farkas said gruffly. “I just think you’re not thinkin’ about this.”

“Thinking won’t bring Mariah back home,” Vilkas said, turning away and starting through the trees. “I’m going to find her.”

“And then what?” Farkas called after him but Vilkas didn’t answer; he continued onwards through the forest at a determined pace and, having no choice but to follow, Farkas barged into the undergrowth after his brother.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BHW is on infinite hold until further notice (i.e. a new chapter is published) and I am very sorry. I was too caught up in writing my other works and this fell to the bottom of the pile. Thank you for reading up to this point.

The winding mountain trail ended outside of a bleak-looking cave; old daggers and sticks had been shoved into small crevices and hung with ornaments in metal or stone; Mariah spotted a few amulets to different Divines hung between strands of colourful feathers and cord, and a bracelet similar to that which Aela had lent her the previous night was hung on a higher rung. One pendant stood out among the rest – a large teardrop of malachite polished so vigorously that it shone almost translucent, with clusters of freshwater pearls on a gold chain. Skjor noticed Mariah staring in wonder and he explained, “This is one of our offerings to Hircine. We display our skill in crafting the natural world into pieces of art for his pleasure.”

“I thought Hircine only cared about the hunt,” Mariah queried, stepping closer to the assorted jewellery to look at a bracelet of boar tusk, inlaid with ebony. Skjor and Aela stepped past her, starting into the cave. Mariah followed; the cave entrance turned off to follow a path cut beside a shallow rocky stream. A brazier lit the path every yard or so, casting a warm glow on the damp rock walls. The further they travelled, the fresher the air began to feel, and Mariah realized that the tunnel angled upwards into the mountains.

As they walked in single formation, Skjor explained the meaning of the many amulets and trinkets at the entrance: “We fashion ourselves in ways to let others know our rank as a hunter. A novice might wear the pelt of the first animal they caught, out of pride. A chieftain or leader, well… he will adorn himself with whatever and however much he pleases, and people will know him as leader for how he dresses himself.”

“What about you two?” Aela and Skjor glanced back briefly at Mariah’s question. “You’re not wearing anything special.”

“We cannot wear what we want outside of the Tribe,” Aela quipped in, her strong voice echoing off the stony walls. “You see, this place is not exactly a public forum. It is a sanctuary for werewolves, a haven away from those who would want to annihilate us from the world. We live here with the knowledge that we are safe and that we may freely celebrate what we are, with no one to judge us.”

“Kodlak doesn’t know about this place?”

“Nor will he ever,” Skjor answered firmly. “Only Aela and I...and now you.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Mariah asked.

“Well, my girl,” Skjor sighed and glanced at Aela, as though seeking permission, before turning to face Mariah again. “We need you by our side if those we love are to remain protected. Stand with us, and you will never know loneliness or loss.”

“But what about the Companions-”

“As I said before, they are but weak-minded men,” Skjor interrupted. “We will stand with them and support them, but they will never see us as kin. We do not see _them_ as worthy equals. This place, however…” He trailed off as they made a sharp turn out of the tunnel and into a brightly-lit open area. Aela and Skjor let Mariah see past them; both of their faces were glowing with excited elation, and Mariah could see why.

The massive wall of sand-coloured rock was split down the middle, the gap wide enough for perhaps four to five men to walk abreast. As for height, Mariah had to tip her head all the way back to see to the top, where stumpy trees grew out of the wall and created a canopy down the canyon and turned the uppermost half green and shadowed. Hanging from just above the canyon entrance, suspended by heavy ropes, was the skull of a whale, with its spine and ribs stretching into the depths of the passage. Aela stepped up beside her and placed a light hand on Mariah’s shoulder. “Welcome to Moonborn Canyon.”

~*~

Mariah stepped out of the way of a cluster of giggling children dashing by; one of them glanced back to look at her with pale coppery eyes, but she couldn’t be too sure, because they were already disappearing down a trail into a second grove. Aela was smiling proudly as Mariah gazed about in astonishment, taking in the huge camp of thatch-roofed huts, tents big enough to store a couple of horses, and pagodas. Several bench tables and chairs set in circles around fireplaces lined the clean dirt path leading up, where, at the top of the hill sloping back to the canyon entrance, was the remains of a small fort tower. Skjor and Aela led her up the path towards the tower after giving her the time to let everything sink in partway; they were apparently eager to introduce her to whoever was in charge.

Pushing aside the hides hung curtain-fashion; Mariah found the insides of the tower to be comfortably furnished. Several braziers and scones brightened the room similarly to the type of light during sundown and it was very warm, though not overly so. The back of the tower was built against the rock wall behind it; giving it a sort of half-circle shape, but it was still very big. A set of stairs led up along one wall with torches hung all the way up. Several woven mats in varying colours were mixed with different pelts, padding the floor with the comfort of that of a bed, and plain cream flags were hung on the walls under and above the narrow windows. A single mannequin, adorned with a very regal set of armour, stood directly across from the entryway. A couple of benches on the walls and large, overstuffed pillow finished what Mariah thought was a very lavish space.

“Come,” Skjor beckoned, leading Mariah up the stairs; a thin burgundy rug softened each step upwards to the second landing, which was apparently the bedroom. Mariah only saw it for a few moments in passing, but she spotted the bed covered with several expensive furs and woolen throws, and a startling amount of plush pillows, all hidden behind a gauzy linen curtain for privacy. On the floor at the foot of the bed was the skin and head of a creature Mariah didn’t recognize, but more than anything, it resembled a bear.

The final level was roofed with thatch and furnished with a huge oak desk; two dressed-up benches placed perpendicular in front of said desk, and a thick carpet of mammoth hide. The desk faced an opening in the wall, looking out at the canyon and all below. Sitting at this desk was a man, whose face was hidden behind a book, and all Mariah saw of him was the smooth tan soles of his feet – both very clean and long, with perfectly formed toes and a supple arch.

“Greetings, My Alpha,” Skjor said politely, bending to one knee and placing his right fist over his left breast. He straightened and announced, “Mariah has arrived.”

The book lowered slightly and Mariah caught a glimpse of inquisitive yellow eyes and a wide, high forehead. The dark brows narrowed some and the book lowered the rest of the way, exposing the face of an Imperial man. His flawless skin was the colour of ripened acorns and everything, from straight, knife-edged nose and high cheekbones, to sleek black hair tumbling over his shoulders and a not-too-wide mouth set in a prolific, oval face, was near perfect.

Having grown up in Cyrodiil, Mariah should have been surrounded by Imperials galore but the isolation of her Highland-home was just the opposite. She’d seen many Imperials in her brief travels, of course, but none were as impeccably handsome as this one. He set down the book and rose fluidly, approaching Mariah without every breaking eye contact, and she felt a ridiculous sensation overcome her as he stopped to tower over her. He was tall, taller than any man she’d ever seen; all lithe and grace rolled up into a delectable ball of controlled power. Mariah watched his hands – long-fingered and large – lift to gently touch the point below her chin and raise her head very slightly. His eyes, sharper than a hawk’s and hungrier than a wolf’s, seemed to swallow her and all at once, she felt a fluttering warmth between her legs as his gaze caressed her in the most intimate of ways. She barely held in the animalistic whine threatening to peel free from her quivering mouth.

 _Alpha_ , Skjor had said. Mariah put two and two together and realized she was only acting so because she, a whelp, the lowest of the rank, was being looked upon by the leader. Any she-wolf would roll onto her back for the alpha to so much as walk past her. Mariah blushed fiercely and the Imperial laughed, turning her insides to butter and sweet nothings. He moved his hand from her chin, smile lighting up his features like he were one of the Gods-damned Divines above, and he said in a voice that sounded musically light and as deep as thunder all at once: “I am Chieftain Loren. I welcome you to Hircine’s Chosen.”

Mariah could have pushed Loren back on his desk and had him right then and there, but a single thought somehow grounded her: Vilkas. Bringing his face to mind allowed her to breathe once more and, as appealing as Loren’s primal scent enticed her, she suddenly felt much more herself. Mariah found herself able to look Loren in the face without turning into a puddle of goo, she smiled politely and lowered her head respectfully. “I am honoured to meet you, My Alpha.”

“Lovely, is she not?” Loren asked Skjor, studying Mariah with an interested eye, then looked upon Aela. “You were an excellent choice to be her forebear. I should like it very much if you would be so obliged to take her on as your apprentice.”

“I would love to, My Alpha” Aela answered strongly. “Mariah is a dedicated swordswoman as it is. She will need only a little encouragement to bring out the very best in her.”

“Wonderful. Skjor, please stay a moment longer. I would speak with you,” Loren said, a hint of seriousness entering his warm tone, and he gestured to Aela. “Feel free to show her all there is to offer, including the Omega Quarters. She may have three days to settle before we begin training.”

Aela thanked Loren for his hospitality and bowed as Skjor had done, and Mariah quickly copied her. As Aela straightened, Mariah noticed Skjor’s gaze upon the huntress, gleaming with some intense emotion. Aela led the way down the stairs and out into the fresh air, beginning to explain some of the places visible from the tower, but Mariah couldn’t help but hear the angry voices echoing down from above.

~*~

The sanctuary within the canyon was rather large, large parts of it hidden by dense trees and natural sheltering. From the entrance was a long path leading up to the tower, which Mariah learned was named Highmoon Tower. A path veered off to the left coming out of Highmoon Tower and into the heart of Moonborn Canyon, or, more accurately, Hircine’s Chosen.

The tents and thatched huts at the beginning of the canyon were simply for resting or relaxing. Next to Highmoon Tower was an actual two-level building the size and shape of an inn, which was jam-packed day and night with men and women clustered around the two dozen tables crammed into the cozy space, where drinking and gambling lasted for hours. Mariah found the place to be very exciting and lively; the air inside stank of sweat and wood smoke, but it was somehow comforting, and brought images of Jorrvaskr to mind. The second floor was spare beds and more tables, and a basement was stocked with all the drink and food they could need. Ysgar was the name of the very busy barman, and a brilliant cook, who bore a deep scar down one side of his face but a cheerful and bright disputation, as well as a booming laugh that shook the bottles on the countertop.

Aela led Mariah along the path to a pair of pagodas where six women were spaced out, some knitting and gossiping while two others were holding infants to their bosoms, speaking much quieter. A river ran along the canyon wall behind one of the pagodas, turning under a wide bridge that led into the heart of Hircine’s Chosen.

Mariah was brought to a small collection of houses, as large as the inn but one-leveled and L-shaped, surrounding a sandy circle, where several big rocks had been arranged in a smaller circle in the middle. The rocks were obviously there to support a burning fire in the evenings but during the day, they worked just fine for children to jump off or people to sit on, which was what was happening as Mariah and Aela approached. Half of the houses were stone-walled while the others were long cabins. At the end of the houses was a large stone overlooking the sandy circle, with a plain cream flag hung from it. It obviously symbolized something of importance, so Mariah turned to Aela to ask.

“The flag represents Hircine’s Will,” Aela said. “It bears no symbol because we, as werewolves, have no face or identity among the larger population. We remain faceless, just as our gift remains secret, but the flag stands for a pack united.”

Aela carried on, explaining the meaning of the buildings: “The log cabins are for the Omegas, or the whelps, as I call them. The stone houses are for those who are accomplished fighters and werewolves, who have risen above the lowest rank. We refer to them as Deltas, or subordinates. Males and females sleep separately.”

“You sleep there, then?” Mariah asked and was surprised to see Aela shake her head. The huntress pointed up, where Mariah could see smoke curling from rooftops on a slope next to the canyon wall. “The Beta Quarters are up there. That’s where Skjor and I go, although I usually stand on watch at night. The hill is pressed right into the canyon wall and looks over to the cave opening. It’s a useful setup.”

“It is,” Mariah agreed. “Why don’t you and Skjor sleep together?”

Aela went very quiet and Mariah saw that she appeared almost guilty. The huntress took her by the arm and led her down to the stream running under the bridge, where a few weathered rocks had been draped with soft quilts. On the other side of the stream was a flat wooden wall, like a fence, and through the gap at the bottom Mariah could see a wall of wooden posts, like outside of bandit forts. It might have been an enclosure.

“The Companions are well aware of my relationship with Skjor,” Aela began, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m not ashamed to admit I love the man, nor am I afraid to display my affections towards him. But here, it is not allowed.”

“Why?”

“The Tribe has a rule, just like a wolf pack in the wilds,” Aela said softly, pausing when two of the knitting women from the pagodas passed by. One stopped to half-bow and place a fist over her heart to Aela, before rushing to catch up with her friend. “Only the Alpha wolf is allowed to mate with the Alpha Female – to ensure a strong litter of pups. Loren is the only male here who is allowed to select a mate, and any babies you see are his.” Mariah thought of the two women nursing their infants and nodded.

“Skjor is the Senior Beta in the Tribe. He stands just below Loren in terms of authority, but despite this power, he is not allowed to take a mate of his own. If he were a rogue werewolf, or just a member of the Companions, then he’d be free to do as he wished. You must be absolutely lost,” Aela read the blank confusion in Mariah’s eyes; it was not confusion in what Aela was saying, since that much was clear, but it was for why Skjor and Aela bothered to stay if they were in love.

“But you and Skjor…” Mariah kept her voice low as the children from earlier rushed past and, thankfully, went to play in the water on the other side of the bridge. One of the knitting women was heard shouting at them to behave, with an answering chorus of yells and delighted squeals.

“Loren is aware of it,” Aela sighed. “There have been many arguments about it, but we have come to an arrangement.”

“Which is…?”

“Skjor cannot ask my hand for marriage, and I am forbidden to bear any child of his.” Her words were crisp, almost unemotional, but Mariah glimpsed the depth of sorrow in the huntress’ eyes. This “arrangement” obviously pained her deeply. “Skjor and I love each other, more than Loren will ever realize, and it is a cruel thing for him to have forced upon us, but at least he and I have each other. We have been though… many hardships together.”

Mariah, noticing the conversation had darkened Aela’s mood, quickly changed the subject: “Are there any rules here?”

“Indeed there are. We can’t have a bunch of whelps running amok at all hours of the day, can we?” The huntress brightened immediately, her serious tone softened by the humoured gleam in her eye. “We follow a set of rules we call the Path of the Tribe. The first rule is to honour your other Tribemates and treat them as you would kin, always. The second rule is to honour and defend the name of the Tribe, just as you would your Tribemates. The final rule is to obey the word of Hircine and honour him above all else, even yourself, for who you are and all you can do is a blessing from the Lord of the Hunt himself. You must never disappoint Hircine, for fear of invoking the Wild Hunt.”

“What is the ‘Wild Hunt’?” Mariah asked.

“When a werewolf defies the ways of Hircine, he will summon a great many hunters to track the defiant one.” Aela paused for a moment before adding, much more quietly, “There was one who did this, but he went missing and has been lost to us ever since. Rumour says he took an artifact of Hircine to control his beast form, but only a fool would believe such things.”

“Did you know him?”

“He called himself ‘Sinding’. I hunted with him a few times before he vanished; he was strong-minded and it felt he was almost _against_ accepting his nature,” Aela shrugged. “Fellow should have seen it coming. Maybe one day he will, should Hircine be so kind.”

“Well, it seems his time has come,” Skjor’s voice interrupted and the two women jumped as he came through the fronds to join them. He shared a brief look with Aela that spoke volumes, but Mariah couldn’t think on it for too long before he was facing her and saying, “Loren wants to see how you handle yourself, whelp. You’re coming with me to Falkreath.” He added to Aela, “Sinding landed himself in the prisons.”

“Has he now?” Aela raised a brow then smiled, standing and looking down at Mariah. “I wish you luck, whelp. Be true to yourself and you will succeed.” She stepped around Skjor, briefly brushing her lips across his cheek and locking gazes with him. Skjor nodded, silently acknowledging whatever the look meant, and passed through the fronds with a toss of her hair.

“C’mon, whelp,” Skjor said gruffly, kindly offering a hand to help Mariah down the rock in a gentlemanly manner, and led the way to the canyon entrance. Mariah fell into step with the warrior, listening to the steady crunch of his boots, and she glanced up at him briefly. She could see the legionnaire alive and well in how he held himself as he moved, and she could almost understand why Aela was so devoted to him. They both exuded a sense of calm authority and pride that made them a perfect, if not deadly match.

Unless Loren was blind, then Mariah couldn’t understand why the chieftain would dare try to pull Aela and Skjor apart. It would only end in bloodshed or tears, considering how ardent the two were for each other; Mariah already knew that she wouldn’t ever suggest such a thing.

Deciding the chieftain was a fool, Mariah followed Skjor into the cave entrance and out into Falkreath’s wilderness.


End file.
